


in arcadia

by keishn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Blurred Relationship Lines, Forgiveness, Friendship/Love, Homophobia, Love Triangles, M/M, Nosedive Inspired Universe, POV Iwaizumi Hajime, Sexual Content, Sexuality, Slow Burn, Social Commentary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-16 15:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keishn/pseuds/keishn
Summary: "You abandonedme, your best friend since before we could even walk, and for what? For people who barely knew you, because they had higher ratings."





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

> title song: [arcadia - the kite string tangle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWpd_puW0UQ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "Happy birthday."

As soon as the clock of his cell phone hits midnight, Hajime presses call. His bedroom's dark, and the house is otherwise silent. The ringing of the phone assaults his ear with its trilling as it sits wedged between his ear and the pillow. He grows impatient for Oikawa to answer, and starts to wonder if maybe he fell asleep and left his phone on silent mode when the ringing stops.

There's a split second of near silence— just the sound of breathing— before he hears Oikawa exclaim, "Iwa-chan!"

"Shittykawa, I tell you every time," he says, voice echoing in its tired volume against his own ears. "Don't answer the phone that loud." He pauses, and his voice softens when he says, "Happy birthday." 

"Iwa-chan, you're first," Oikawa says.

"I'm always—"

"But, I think you forgot. You have to be nice to me today."

"Like hell I do," Hajime replies. He pauses, but Oikawa remains silent. Finally, he asks, "So what is it?"

"Four-point-seven." The reply comes evenly, not in the excited exclamation Hajime expects from his best friend about this.

"That's really good," Hajime says.

A 4.7 on an eighteenth birthday is an anomaly. But then, so is Oikawa. Even Hajime knows that a 4.7 is a score Oikawa should be ecstatic over not— _this._   He doesn't know what to call it. Disappointment?  If Shittykawa expected a 5.0, Hajime'll have to beat some sense into him.

Hajime's own rating currently stands at 3.6. Above average. Good, even. Not good enough for his best friend, though.  Mid-threes and high-fours don't hang out with each other. Hajime forces himself to stop thinking and realizes how silent it is.

"Oikawa? You still there?"

"Yeah, Iwa-chan, I'm here."

"What is it?"

"What?"

"You sound upset."   Hajime rolls over onto his other side, switching his phone between hands.

"I'm not upset. Of course, I'm not upset.  It's my birthday and I got a four-point-seven. I'm not upset."

"You're going to have to try harder than that to fool me," Hajime replies. He sighs. "What's going on?"

The line silences, and for a moment, Hajime thinks they've been disconnected. He pulls his phone away from his ear to double check and sees that isn't the case, but he doesn't press the issue. If Oikawa's in a bad mood— for reasons unknown to Hajime— he'll come around when he's ready. Recently, his contemplative silences have become more frequent, but there's nothing Hajime can do besides this: Wait.  Wait and listen— or be ready to when Oikawa finally speaks.

He lets the silence speak for itself for a while before deciding it's time for him to get sleep if he doesn't want his mother knocking at his door in the morning, telling him that he's sleeping too much

"Hey."

"Hmm," Oikawa says in acknowledgment.

He can hear the sound of sheets rustling and then a breath in the receiver. And then—

"Are you crying?"

"No," Oikawa says before a long sniff.

"What the hell do you have to be crying about on your birthday?" Hajime asks. He means an accusation, but it leaves his mouth as concern.

Oikawa doesn't answer.

"I'm coming over," Hajime says. He hangs up, already kicking off his sheets and fumbling around in the dark for a tee-shirt before heading towards the front door of his house.

As he walks down their street, he sees Oikawa standing at the edge of his parents' front lawn, waiting. His hair sticks up in four or five different directions at once. Even in the dark, Hajime sees the lack of life on his face. His friend looks tired from something other than lack of sleep.

Hajime flattens a piece of Oikawa's hair down when he reaches him.

"You look so ridiculous, you know," he says, fondly.

Oikawa says nothing, eyes looking past Hajime.  Hajime's hand drops from his best friend's hair as the other turns around. Oikawa mutters something inaudible, heading towards the house, leaving his best friend to trail behind him.

When they reach his bedroom, Oikawa sits on the bed, back against the wall. Hajime sits next to him, the drywall cool against his own back, before letting his hand wander over the blankets to find his best friend's.  Oikawa lets him interlace their fingers, but his hand remains limp in Hajime's.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Hajime asks.

Oikawa doesn't say anything, just exhales into the quiet of the dark room.

Hajime waits. It seems he's always waiting when it comes to Oikawa. After what might be minutes or an hour he says, "You should get some rest."

"Don't go," Oikawa says, sounding breathless.

Hajime squeezes his hand. "Okay," he says, "okay."

They shift to lie down on top of the covers, legs entwined. Hajime still holds Oikawa's hand. He wishes, briefly, that he could read minds. Why won't Oikawa just tell him what's bothering him?

A hand pulls away— Oikawa's hand pulls away, it seems he's always pulling away when it comes to Hajime lately— before resettling in Hajime's shirt. The taller shifts, resting his head beneath Hajime's chin, pressing into his chest. Hajime's hand pulls through Oikawa's hair.

At some point, they fall asleep.

 

✧

 

The Monday after summer vacation ends, Oikawa waits for him outside of his house. The setter lets out a small shriek at the sight of him.

"The hell was—"

"Sorry, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, sounding chipper as ever. "I have my contacts in today! I forgot how bad your rating was."  As he speaks, the circle around his face blinks to life with a caption appearing that reads: _Oikawa 4.7._

"A 3.6 really isn't—"

"It's a mid-rank, Iwa-chan. If you want to keep up with me now, you should really work on improving it."

"What makes you think I want to keep up with you?"

" _Mean,_ Iwa-chan. You can't be mean to me today. It's the first day of classes and everyone is going to see my score for the first time!"

"I'm pretty sure all the fangirls that stalk your profile have already seen it."

"How do you know they stalk my profile, Iwa-chan? Have you been stalking it yourself?"

Hajime sighs, rolling his eyes and stepping off the curb and onto the street. They walk towards the school grounds together— Oikawa motioning with one hand as he talks.  

"Oikawa," he says when they're about halfway to campus.

Oikawa stops talking and lets his one hand drop, sliding into the pocket of his beige uniform pants. He turns his head and looks at Hajime.

"What is it, Iwa-chan?" he asks expectantly.

"I just— Are we really not going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"  

"Why you were so upset about your rating when you got it?"

The look in Oikawa's eyes makes it clear that he's closed off for this particular topic. Hajime doesn't push him. He knows better.

When they reach Aoba Jousai's campus, nearly half the girls they pass tell Oikawa happy birthday— even though it was a week ago. A few girls who must have already turned eighteen squeal at the sight of his rating.

One girl approaches the two of them. "Oikawa-san! Happy birthday! Of course you got such a high rating— everyone was saying you would. Highest of our year so far… it looks like." She ends her sentence with a glance at Hajime.

He looks back at her, steadfast. The circle around her face fades into view. _Kudo 4.5._   

Kudo Akane is one of the taller girls in third year, only about a head shorter than himself. She plays a sport, but he loses his memory of it for a minute. Softball, maybe.  

Oikawa glances between them before turning his attention to Kudo.

"Ah, thank you, Kudo-san. Although, I can't say I'm not a little bit sorry about taking your spot at the top."

Kudo smiles at Oikawa in a way that makes Iwaizumi want to grab at his arm and drag him away or throw a volleyball at his head. He hates that feeling, but he's grown used to it enough to let it become background noise.

"Do you have practice after school today?" she asks him.

Hajime decides he does not want to be in earshot of this conversation.

"I'll see you at lunch," he says to Oikawa and starts walking towards the end of the hallway.

"Iwa-chan! Where are you going?" Oikawa asks, ignoring Kudo's question.

"To find Matsukawa," Hajime lies, "he owes me money from when we all went to get ice cream last week."

Oikawa starts to protest, but Hajime doesn't listen, and as the bottoms of his sneakers hit the tiled floor of the hallway he hears Oikawa start back into his conversation with Kudo. Hajime ends up roaming the halls, staying as far away from Oikawa's classroom as possible, until he needs to head to his own classroom.

Taking his assigned seat behind Hanamaki, Hajime pulls out his notebook for their first class of the day.  Hanamaki turns around in his seat, raising his nearly non-existent eyebrows at Hajime. The white circle appears around his face. _Hanamaki 3.7._

"Did you see who gave Oikawa two stars last night?"

Hajime blinks twice in rapid succession. "Someone gave Oikawa two stars?"

Hanamaki nods and pulls out his phone, already open to Oikawa's profile. Clearly, he was waiting for Hajime to get to their classroom so he could bring this up.

Hajime taps on Oikawa's latest post. It's of the two of them, together. Or rather, a set of pictures of Hajime with parts of Oikawa's face in the corner of the frame.  He's captioned it something lame about friendship and teamwork and the words are so filled with shallow bullshit that they read about as coherently as gibberish.

His first thought is that Oikawa Tooru is a sneaky piece of trash.

He notices that nearly everyone's rated it five stars, a few four stars are sprinkled in. Then he sees it. _Nomura_ _Airi_ _rated this post 2-Stars._ He blinks at the phone, narrowing his eyes and drawing in his eyebrows.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah," Hanamaki replies, grabbing the phone off the desk before Hajime looks up from it.  "Weird, right? She doesn't interact with any of his other posts. Like his selfies and stuff? She could easily rate those one or two stars out of spite for his dumping her—"

"I thought she dumped him?"

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow at Hajime.

"No. No no no no."

"But they always dump him."

"You thought that Nomura Airi— Nomura Airi 4.3 and desperate to reach the upper-echelon— dumped _Oikawa Tooru_ , two weeks before his eighteenth birthday when everyone knew he would be rated at least a 4.5?"

Hajime shrugs.

Hanamaki shakes his head. "You, my friend, are hopeless. It's no wonder—"

"Good morning class," the teacher says, walking in and cutting Hanamaki's sentence short.

The pink-haired giant turns in his seat to face the front of the room, leaving Hajime to guess at what he was going to say.

 

✧

 

At lunch, Hajime shows up to Matsukawa's classroom with Hanamaki. Matsukawa raises his eyebrows at them in greeting.   _Matsukawa 3.6_.

"Where's Oikawa?" Hanamaki asks.

"Not here, clearly," states Matsukawa.

"Did he say anything to you this morning?" Hanamaki asks, glancing at Hajime.

Hajime shakes his head. "No."

"Whatever," Matsukawa says, "I'm starving and don't feel like waiting on him."

Hajime takes his usual seat, next to Hanamaki. They pull up a fourth desk for whenever Oikawa shows up.

He doesn't.

"That's weird," Matsukawa says when they're about halfway through lunch period. "Where do you think he went?"

Hajime shrugs. "Don't know. Don't care."

Both of his friends send him a look that says they know better. He chooses to ignore it.  "Maybe he's with that girl he was talking to earlier," he says.

"A girl?" Hanamaki asks. "Who?"

"Kudo-san, from class 3-C, I think."

"Softball team?" Matsukawa asks.

Hajime nods. "Yeah, her."

Matsukawa leans back in his chair. "That makes sense. I think she sits at a table with all fours. Face it, gentlemen— we've been ditched."  He nods sagely to himself.

Hajime rolls his eyes. "Shittykawa is garbage, but he's not terrible enough to ditch us."

"I don't know," Hanamaki says, "he's obsessed with ratings. You know better than anyone that it was all he would talk about, especially when your birthday was coming up."

Matsukawa bats his eyelashes at Hajime, "Iwa-chan, what do you think your score will be? Definitely not as good as mine will be on _my birthday_ , but one day you'll get there, I'm sure."

"If Trashykawa really wants to ditch us because our ratings aren't high enough, then maybe he should stick to his new friend group."

Hanamaki exchanges a look with Matsukawa. "Anyway, it's weird not having him here to pick out of your food."

Hajime grumbles in response. It's not that he dislikes Oikawa's picking through his food— it's just bad manners. Hajime puts up with it. Oikawa doesn't even like agedashi tofu that much. He usually complains about how bland it is even as he's grabbing it from Hajime's bento with his own chopsticks.

"I'm sure he'll be back here tomorrow when he realizes no one else will put up with his annoying ass."

Hajime glances down at his own lunch in front of him. He doesn't feel all that hungry.

 

✧

 

The coach tells Hajime to find Oikawa, so that's what he does. He's slightly disgruntled by the fact that this task seems to fall to him by default. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is fending off Oikawa's fangirls. There are six of them, all in uniforms of varying levels of dress-code violations. Hajime hurls a volleyball at the back of Oikawa's head.  It bounces back towards him, and he catches it easily.

Oikawa whirls around, rubbing at the spot, whining, "Ouch, Iwa-chan, that actually hurt."

"C'mon, we need to start warming up for practice."

"Everyone was just wishing me a belated happy birthday, Iwa-chan, don't be so rude."

Hajime rolls his eyes and turns back towards the door to the gymnasium. "Fine, then I'll lead warm-up, and you can sit out."

"Wait a second."

And then Oikawa is by his side, apologizing to the girls over his shoulder.

The second the metal side-door to the gym shuts there's six consecutive  _dings_ from his pocket. Hajime pulls out his phone and glances down at it.

_You've been rated!_

_You've been rated!_

_You've be…_

One star. Two stars. Two stars. Two stars. One star. One star.

He doesn't care about stars. He doesn't care about stars. _He doesn't care about stupid stars._

"Iwa-chan, you're grinding your teeth. What's the matter?'

"Nothing," Hajime says, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

"What do you— hey, wait a second.  Iwa-chan, your score is a 3.5 now. What—"

"Tell your fangirls I said thanks," Hajime says, and he's done with this conversation. He jogs ahead so he doesn't have to hear whatever words Oikawa wants to tell him.

 

✧

 

Oikawa waits for him outside the volleyball club room after practice. Hajime half-thought that Oikawa's ditching him might have been a permanent thing. And he says as much tacking in a heavily sarcastic, "lucky me," at the end.

"Where were you at lunch anyway?" he asks.

"Kudo-san invited me to sit at her table, and I couldn't really refuse."

"Why not? You reject your fangirls all the time."

"Kudo-san  _isn't_ one of my fangirls, Hajime. She's an athlete herself. And her friends are all really cool."

"You don't actually think that stars make you cool," Hajime says.

He meant to ask it as a question, but if it were a question, Hajime's worried he wouldn't actually want to hear the answer. Oikawa knows that society is obsessed with getting stars, but even he isn't shallow enough to think it's the be-all and end-all.

Oikawa shrugs. "It isn't just about what I think," he says.

Hajime draws his eyebrows together and narrows his gaze. He stares straight ahead of him as they walk in the direction that puts the school at their backs. This whole topic makes him want to ignore his best friend. It's not like they haven't had this discussion before. But, it's different now. It's different when _Iwaizumi 3.5_ tells _Oikawa_ _4.7_ that stars don't matter.

They'll never be just Iwaizumi and Oikawa again.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says to him, "you really should work on being nicer to people."

"Maybe you should work on not letting people as shallow as you feed your ego."

Oikawa shoves his hands into the pockets of his school uniform pants. It's an uncommon gesture, one that Hajime finds difficult to read. He knows that isn't a good thing, though— Oikawa nearly always talks with his hands.

"So, you and Kudo-san. Is that a thing now?"

Oikawa shrugs again. "I don't know. I was thinking I might ask her out— but, she's not exactly heavy on any hints that she's interested."

"She doesn't seem like the type to shove flowery worded letters into pink envelopes and look at her feet as she hands it to you." Hajime tilts his head and looks at his friend.

"Well, I don't know, anyway. I've only just started talking to her today."

Hajime says nothing. It doesn't make sense that Oikawa wouldn't just go for someone if he's interested. Of course, they have volleyball and applying for colleges and everything else to think about. But Oikawa's already been scouted for a few different collegiate volleyball teams, and his 4.7 rating is sure to get him more offers.

"You coming over for dinner?" Hajime asks when they get to the top of their street.

Oikawa grins brightly at his best friend.  "I'm invited?"

Hajime punches him in the arm. "Of course, idiot."

Oikawa frowns, "That's not very nice."

"What are you going to do? Give me one star?"

Oikawa shakes his head. "Of course not, Iwa-chan. I would never give you anything below a perfect five."

"Don't be stupid."

"You're the one that's stupid about this stuff."

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "Let's just go home and finish our homework."

Oikawa doesn't say anything but he does let out a sigh. Hajime tries not to automatically translate its meaning in his mind, which proves difficult when he knows exactly what Oikawa means to say, often even when he doesn't speak. Oikawa obviously wants Hajime to care more about stars and rankings, but what Hajime cares about isn't really Oikawa's business to determine.

Hajime pulls out his Japanese literature homework when they get to his bedroom. Oikawa pulls out a calculus problem set. They work mostly in silence. Normally, the silence between them is comfortable, but today, something tugs insistently at the back of Hajime's mind. Maybe it's a leftover thought from being unexpectedly abandoned at lunch today.

Oikawa is allowed to have other friends, he reminds himself. Granted, making new friends and thinking of dating girls when they're about to graduate in a few months seems pointless. Clearly, that's not the thought process of Oikawa, who has nothing more to care about than stars and ratings and other people's opinions.

It's bugging Hajime and he can't focus on his analysis of the reading, so he drops his pen and clears his throat to get Oikawa's attention. Oikawa doesn't look up, so Iwaizumi flings his pen at his head.

"Iwa-chan, that's so immature."

Hajime rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's rich coming from you."

"If you wanted my attention all you had to do was ask."

"Infuriating, as usual."

Hajime's eyes watch Oikawa's hand as he lays his pencil between the pages of his open calculus textbook. He snaps his eyes back to Oikawa's face.

"What is it?"

"What's going on with you, really? You were so upset on your birthday after getting your rating, and now you're ditching us for the fours of the school?"

Oikawa glances away from him. "Iwa-chan," he says.

Hajime waits for the explanation that doesn't come.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it I just— I'm trying to understand what's going on with you."

Oikawa doesn't say anything, instead, looks at the wooden floorboards of Hajime's bedroom. Hajime tries not think about how he wants to trace the slope of Oikawa's nose with his finger, or how long his best friend's eyelashes are, or how he kind of wants to kiss him.

He stands up and heads for the door of his bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Oikawa asks from behind.  

Hajime doesn't turn around, can't bear to look at Oikawa after being betrayed by his own thoughts like that.

"I'll be right back," is all he says, before stepping through the door to leave the room and wander to the kitchen.

His mother stands at the counter, knife in one hand, a radish on the wooden cutting board in front of her. She spares him a glance over her shoulder as he enters the kitchen and heads for the cabinet that holds the cups, mugs, teacups, and a wide array of glassware.

"Hajime, is Tooru-chan staying for dinner?" his mother asks.

Hajime opens the cabinet grabs a cup before answering. "Yeah."

"Okay," his mother says, turning back to cutting the vegetables.

Hajime fills the cup with water, hands shaking. He shuts the faucet off a second too late, a single stream of liquid pouring over the edge of the glass. Gripping the edge of the sink with one hand, he downs the glass of water in a few large gulps and then refills it.

He does not want to go back to his bedroom. He does not want to go back to where Oikawa is sitting there waiting for him. But he does.

When he reaches his room, he hesitates, preparing himself for facing Oikawa, before he opens the door and steps in. Oikawa only spares him a glance before going back to his calculus. It's almost a relief. Almost.

Hajime tries to focus on his Japanese literature homework until dinner. He succeeds in keeping his eyes trained on his paper, but he doesn't succeed in writing down anything of substance. He's far too aware of Oikawa in his room right now, the scratching of his pencil against paper and the rustling of papers as he turns to the next page in his book.

Telling himself that his thoughts were a fluke is one thing— believing it is another.

It's unfair that his mind would think things like that at all. It's twice as awful when he remembers their conversation from earlier. _Kudo Akane 4.5_. She's the one that his best friend is interested in.

He feels sick to his stomach.

 

✧

 

Oikawa doesn't sit with them at lunch anymore. At first, he thinks that the routine might not last, but about three weeks in, he surrenders that idea.

In homeroom one morning he's thinking as much, that today will be another day where they all get ignored. A voice that speaking a little too loudly to not be overheard interrupts his thoughts.

"Did you hear?" a girl asks one of her friends.

"Hear what?" the friend asks.

"Oikawa-san asked out Kudo-san last night."

Hajime clenches his jaw to keep from saying something out of line.

"What does she have that we don't? We've been to every single one of his games since first year."

 _So have I_ , Hajime thinks bitterly, _I've been on the court with him_.

But that doesn't matter for many reasons. Including the fact that he's _Iwaizumi Hajime 3.5_ and that will never be good enough for someone like Oikawa.

And then there's the small obstacle of him being a guy.

Still, he doesn't like that he's hearing about this development from two girls loudly gossiping in his classroom. Normally, Oikawa wouldn't hesitate to text Hajime or show up at his door and pester him with this sort of news. He wonders when Oikawa will tell him, now that they're not sitting together at lunch anymore.

Hanamaki turns in his seat to look at Hajime. Hajime rolls his eyes.

"Did you know about that?" his eyebrowless friend asks, tilting his head towards the girls.

Hajime presses his lips together then says, "No. He didn't say anything to me."

"Hmm." Hanamaki turns back to the front of the classroom.

Hajime is grateful when the teacher shows up and tells the class to quiet down for the roll call.

 

✧

 

After school, Hajime waits for Oikawa after practice. He's used to waiting for his friend; if he left without saying anything, the idiot would definitely overdo his practicing and end up hurting himself. It'll be a miracle if he survives college without Hajime to look after him.

"About time," he says when Oikawa finally comes into the locker room. "I was starting to think I might have to drag you out of there by force."

Oikawa looks at him and shoots him a smile. One of his  _everything is okay, Iwa-chan, please, believe me_ , smiles that Hajime never actually falls for. But he doesn't point it out because somehow doing so would feel wrong.

 _Oikawa 4.7_ fades into view with the oval around his best friend's face. Hajime wishes he didn't have to wear the contacts. He supposes that he doesn't  _have_ to wear them, but nearly everyone does, so even though he doesn't care much about his rating or other people's, he keeps them in during the day.

"So, when were you going to tell me that you asked Kudo-san out?" Hajime asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

His own voice sounds casual enough to his own ears.  He wonders if Oikawa will fall for it or if he'll see right through to the tumultuous churning of Hajime's stomach. Hajime doesn't want to talk about it, in fact, he'd much rather deny it. But if it's going to come up tonight anyway, he wants to at least be the one in control of the conversation. Maybe it will hurt less.

"I was going to bring it up on our walk home. I didn't know you'd heard already."

"Your fangirls were gossiping about it. I thought maybe it was just a rumor."

Oikawa shrugs. "Well, when I asked you a while ago you didn't seem to care all that much so—"

Hajime pulls his eyebrows into each other. "What does my opinion have to do with anything?"

The setter looks at him, not saying anything. Hajime thinks maybe Oikawa might try to put him under a microscope, but then the setter shakes his head and finishes getting changed. Hajime looks away, remembering his thoughts betraying him those weeks ago.

Oikawa finishes getting dressed and slings his bag over one shoulder then motions for Hajime to follow him outside. The sun of the early fall sky is directly ahead of them, so Hajime keeps his eyes on the gravel sidewalk as they head in the direction of their houses. Their walks home have become more silent, more strained ever since Oikawa stopped sitting with them at lunch. Their friendship has shifted, the strings tethering them to one another are wearing thin, and Hajime isn't sure if he can stop them from breaking.

He doesn't know how to tell Oikawa that. He doesn't know how to say _I miss you_ without it sounding like too much, so he doesn't say anything.

 

✧

 

Months go by. Their friendship continues to dwindle down. It results in only walking to and from school together, seeing each other less and less outside of practice. Soon after the lunches stop, Oikawa starts going on weekend dates with Kudo-san instead of hanging out at Hajime's or his own house to watch shitty movies and end up dozing off on each other's shoulders.

Life without Oikawa is strange. Hajime expected this to happen eventually— they wouldn't be going to the same colleges, after all— he just didn't expect it to be months before high school ended, and he didn't expect it to be because of a girl. Hajime tries to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth every time he remembers the reason Oikawa no longer pesters him nonstop.

Even worse, Kudo-san isn't someone that Hajime feels justified disliking. He feels like she's stolen Oikawa away, even though he knows his best friend has  _chosen_ to ditch them for her. On the rare occasions they all hang out, Oikawa brings her along. Hajime and the other third years have become friends of convenience, people for Oikawa to hang out with when he and Kudo are otherwise bored.

They all agree to go to the arcade together one afternoon in November. Hajime shows up just after Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but Oikawa and Kudo don't show up until about twenty minutes later.

"Typical," Hajime says, anger seeping into his voice.

His friends glance at him, but he doesn't return their looks. Oikawa's speaking to her as they approach.

"My fangirls rate Iwa-chan poorly because he's always dragging me back to practice."

"It's good he keeps you grounded," Kudo says, "my vice-captain just tries to suck up to me to get more stars."

Oikawa grimaces.  

"It's nice to have someone on my side for once," Hajime says to her.

She grins at him, "I'm glad someone besides me can keep Tooru in line."

Hajime swallows, awkwardly, floored at the sound of Oikawa's given name in someone else's mouth. He chokes.

"Iwaizumi, you okay?" Matsukawa asks.

Hajime nods through his chokes and tries to stop breathing until the urge to cough just disappears altogether.

"Aka-chan you're supposed to take  _my side_ ," Oikawa whines, as Hajime's coughs die down.

"Don't harass your girlfriend, Shittykawa," Hajime says, trying to recover.

"Yeah, Oikawa, I'd watch it if I were you. She looks like she could take you in a fight," Hanamaki says.

Kudo looks at Hajime and then Oikawa, and he wonders for a minute if he's been too obvious. She doesn't say anything, though, and simply says to her boyfriend, "Yeah, I think I could take you."

 

✧

 

Losing to Karasuno is the detonation.

He tells Oikawa how much he means to him in not so many loud or flowery words. _You're the partner I can boast about_ feels like too much, but it's not nearly enough. _You're an amazing setter_ feels like a vast understatement. _I will defeat you._ Hajime wonders if he can defeat his own feelings.

Even though they have a few months left in high school it feels like goodbye.

But then he decides to watch Karasuno and Shiratorizawa's match, and there Oikawa is in the stands, glasses on, trying to look inconspicuous. Watching Shiratorizawa lose almost makes losing to Karasuno worth it, but Oikawa is still in a poor mood when they go back to his house after the match ends.

They sit in Oikawa's room, Oikawa on his bed and Hajime in the desk chair.

"So," Hajime ventures, "how are things going with Kudo-san?"

He feels like it's something he should ask; like as Oikawa's best friend, this is something he should care about. But their friendship has shifted so much since August that Hajime isn't entirely sure they're even still best friends. They're definitely not best friends, in the same way, they were all those months ago.

Oikawa shrugs. "I didn't think you'd care to know about that."

"Of course I care."

"I know you don't like her, Iwa-chan."

Hajime blinks. He feels something gnaw its way through his stomach lining. Guilt, he thinks. He remembers Kudo Akane 4.5 has done nothing to earn his ire except date his best friend who he has to remember to not think about kissing.

"It's not that," Hajime says because it's true. He doesn't dislike her— he's jealous of her.

And what an ugly thing jealousy is.

"Then what is it?"

Hajime rolls his eyes. He can't really say that it's that he wishes he was the one allowed to refer to his best friend as Tooru and not just Oikawa. So he says, "It's you I have a problem with."

Oikawa blinks behind his glasses. "I don't understand, Iwa-chan."

"You pretty much completely ditched the rest of us when you started dating her. Do you even know how shitty of a friend that makes you?"

"If I'm such a shitty friend," Oikawa says, voice deliberate, "then why did you show up today? I know _you_ don't care that much about Ushiwaka getting crushed."

"Just because you're a shitty friend doesn't mean you're not still  _my_ best friend, idiot," Hajime says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Oikawa. "But I've been wondering if I'm still yours."

Oikawa starts to speak but Hajime cuts him off.  "Or is a lowly mid-three not worth your time?"

"That's not—"

"Are you sure? Because that's exactly what it felt like the second you dropped off from lunch with us."

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, "you don't understand. To keep my offer from Tokyo I need to maintain at least a 4.0. This has nothing to do with you."

"Our friendship has nothing to do with me?" Hajime asks, flatly.

Oikawa makes a strangled breath, a hard face. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Hajime asks. "When was the last time you actually took the time out of your day for me?" As soon as he says it he realizes how selfish it sounds, so he adds, "Or Mattsun? Or Makki?"

"I walk to and from school with you every day!"  Oikawa's voice rises, strains, and he looks like he's either about to throw a fist at Hajime or burst into tears.

"And?"

"And what?"

He means to say _I miss you_ or _I want my best friend back_ or  _back in August I wanted to kiss you._

He definitely cannot say the last one.

Instead, he says, "Exactly. That's it. You stopped coming to lunch with us— you stopped coming over on the weekends— you even stopped joining us on those stupid, convoluted adventures Matsukawa spends weeks devising. Oh, and you barely ever send me texts with those stupid kaomojis anymore. It's like we don't exist to you unless it's convenient."   

Oikawa presses his lips together and his eyes widen, but he looks away from Hajime's face. He's silent for a moment, and Hajime lets out a huff of breath through his mouth.

When Oikawa finally speaks, he says, "You used to complain that I was too clingy and that I sent you too many texts, so explain to me again how all of this is _my_ fault."

"You knew that I never actually meant that."

"Did I?" Oikawa asks.

" _Yes_ ," Hajime says. "None of that stuff ever bothered you before you got your _stupid four-point-seven_."  He feels poisoned; he feels vines constrict around his throat.

Oikawa's entire self shifts. His face softens; his shoulders drop; his back straightens. "Do you remember what I told you that night?"

Hajime blinks. "You never told me what it was that was bothering you."

"Do you remember what I told you?" he asks again.

This time Hajime doesn't answer.

"I told you 'Don't go,' and you stayed."

Hajime stands up.

"Iwa-chan, please," Oikawa says. "I want to go back to how things were, too, but I just can't."

"Why not?"

Oikawa presses his lips together. "When you called me that night, all I could think of was how you were a 3.6. That's an entire eleven point difference, Iwa-chan. And you came over. And even though I wouldn't tell you what was wrong, you stayed. And I needed that, but I knew it wouldn't last."

"What wouldn't last?"

Oikawa struggles for a moment, grasping at his hair with his hands as he tries to find the right words.  Finally, he simply motions between him. "This."

"Well, you were right. There is no this anymore."

"Iwa-chan, please."

"Please what?"

"Don't leave," Oikawa says, "Please, don't leave."

Hajime exhales. "You already did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy iwaoi day! and also easter is a thing so i hope you have a good one, if you celebrate it.
> 
> thanks to karinne ([armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks)) for reading this over.


	2. I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > So, maybe his life is a little boring, but Hajime thinks that maybe it’s a sign of adulthood that he finds boring a more than acceptable way to exist.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding ceremony for:_

_Oikawa Tooru_

_and_

_Kudo Akane_

_To be held on the Eighteenth of August_

_..._

Hajime looks at the floral-patterned piece of card stock decorated in white, loopy, script lettering. The offending item has been staring at him since it showed up in the mail a few weeks ago without warning, making itself known with a pristine white envelope, and a return address that shattered his thoughts on the spot. It sits with his other junk mail on the coffee table, as it has since it arrived. It makes its way to the top of the pile every couple days— because apparently Iwaizumi Hajime enjoys picking at closed wounds.

The lighting of the living room paints everything in shadows because he keeps forgetting to buy a replacement light bulb for the ceiling lamp. The walls are mostly bare, but it’s not like there’s any reason to decorate when he rarely has visitors besides Matsukawa. Sometimes Sawamura stops by, occasionally accompanied by Azumane or Sugawara, but even that doesn’t seem like enough of a reason for Hajime to grow attached to his shitty apartment. The lease is up soon anyway, yet he’s not entirely sure it’s a good time to buy a house. Maybe he’ll find a new apartment, some place closer to work. Plus, he’s bound to get accepted by a much better landlord now. When he first got this apartment two years ago his rating was at a 3.9, despite it having been a 4.0 through most of graduate school and the latter part of undergrad.

Graduating from school with his masters and getting a full time job a as a physical therapist was something to be celebrated, but the adjustment period left him in limbo. He hadn’t been on his best behavior, exactly.

Now, though, he’s at a 4.1. Surely he can rent an apartment in a better complex— or at least an apartment with a shower that doesn’t run out of hot water after just fifteen minutes.

He glances at the text from Matsukawa that he’s yet to respond to.

        **Matsukawa [6:54pm]:** have you rsvp’d yet?

Hajime sighs when he types out his answer.

        **Iwaizumi [7:37pm]:** no

The typing bubble appears, disappears, reappears, disappears, reappears, and then he gets sick of looking at it so he tosses his phone to the other end of the sofa.  He stands up and opens the window to let in the fresh air. Not that Hajime considers the Tokyo air fresh, especially not after growing up in Miyagi.

He and Sawamura had actually considered opening up their practice in Miyagi prefecture, somewhere just outside of Sendai, but had decided that Tokyo was the better option— more people means more potential clients and patients. Plus, Sawamura’s friend, _Kuroo 4.5_ , a middle blocker for the national team, was willing to vouch for their practice should any of his volleyball friends need a physical therapist. Sawamura managed to land _Bokuto 4.6_ , one of the team’s wingspikers, as a client as a result.

The sound of a loud siren cuts through the sounds of traffic that waltz through the living room window.  His phone vibrates against the leather couch cushion.

       **Matsukawa [7:42pm]:** look at his profile

Against his better judgment, Hajime does as Matsukawa says and opens Oikawa Tooru’s profile. _Oikawa 4.9._

The first post is an image. Hajime’s heart skips a beat. It’s of the two of them together, about twenty years younger. Oikawa’s arms are thrown around Hajime, and he smiles widely at the camera. He wears a shirt that has a green alien head embroidered on the chest pocket. The younger Hajime— in red sweatpants and a plain, white shirt— scowls at the camera, arms crossed.  The post is rated a perfect _5.0_. He doesn’t want to know what the caption says, so he opens his text thread with Matsukawa.

        **Iwaizumi [7:44pm]:** the fuck am i looking at

        **Matsukawa [7:44pm]:** honestly?

        **Matsukawa [7:44pm]:** seems like a plea for you to go.

        **Iwaizumi [7:45pm]:** he doesn’t get to decide what i do

Matsukawa doesn’t reply.

 

✧

 

“You’re here early.”

Hajime jumps at the sound of the voice. _Sawamura 4.3_ stands in the doorway of Hajime’s office.  The sun is barely up, nevermind Hajime— he doesn’t schedule appointments before nine in the morning— yet here he is at seven-thirty. He’s been sitting at his desk since seven, eyes staring at patient information, mind wandering elsewhere.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Hajime says simply.

“Ah.”

His business partner (and probably his best friend) steps back.

“I’ve got to go over information since my first client is at eight.  Lunch?”

“Yeah, see you then,” Hajime says then returns his attention to the papers on his desk.

His first patient of the day is one of his favorites to work with. While they specialize in injuries and their background in volleyball makes their approach most well-equipped for that sport, they each have clients and patients that don’t fit that mold. For the past few months Hajime has been working with a fifteen-year-old ballerina who broke her ankle in a bad car accident and was told she’d never dance again. He’s not sure whether it’s spite, anger, or pure will, but she’s made more progress than even some of the pre-professional athletes he’s worked with.  He frowns at his own train of thought, he promised he wouldn’t make that slip up again after their first meeting. Of course dancers are athletes.

The phone on his desk trills. The two women who work at the front desk haven’t arrived yet, not at this time of the morning. Technically, their office doesn't even open until eight. He picks up the receiver of the dinosaur of a phone.

“You’ve reached Iwaizumi Hajime, may I ask who’s speaking?”

“Yes, this is Moriyama Haruko.” The voice on the other end is that of a very professional—and exasperated—woman. “I’m one of the managers for the national volleyball team.”

“Ah. You probably want Sawamura’s extension?”

“No, actually, I asked him for yours. One of our players is in need of a new physical therapist, and he requested you specifically.”

“Well, unfortunately my schedule is booked for the next three months. You’ll have to call the front office and we’ll put him into the system that way, and then—”

“He’d need to see you as soon as possible. We could pay any extra fees required if you could find a way to make that happen.”

Hajime breathes out through his nose. He needs to keep the facade for the next few minutes, to pretend that what he’s about to be told isn’t what he’s about to be told.

“How soon is as soon as possible?”

“Sometime this week, if you can.”

He picks up a pen off his desk, phone nestled between his shoulder and his ear, and uncaps it.  He sighs, already feeling the headache that this entire situation will cause. He could just say no. He _should_ just say no. It doesn’t work this way. And yet—

“Is this an acute injury?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay. Could you elaborate?”

There’s a silence on the other end. Then “No.”

“No?” Hajime asks, unamused.

He has an inkling about what’s going on, but he’d rather pretend that as an adult, Oikawa Tooru is far less insufferable than he was as a teenager. All of these indirect attempts to wedge himself back into Hajime’s life are getting old, and they’ve only just started with the invitation to the wedding. And if this Oikawa is any more stubborn and relentless, then Hajime is fucked.

Moriyama interrupts his thoughts, saying, “He just said that it has to be you, but you can’t know anything about it until the appointment itself.”

“That isn’t really—”

“How this is usually done. I know. I told him that, but I’m pretty sure he already knew that too. Listen, his previous PT retired, and he’s refusing to see anyone else we’ve come up with. Including Sawamura. So—”

“Who is this for?” Hajime asks, cutting off the rambling of the woman, even though he’s sure that he’s right. There’s no one else on the national volleyball team that would ask for him _specifically_. There’s no one else on the national volleyball team who sent him a wedding invitation that he’s yet to RSVP to or who recently, virtually, and publically connected them in his own fans’ eyes.

“Oikawa Tooru.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then he says, “I’ll do it,” before he can really process that he’s made the decision. He tells himself that this will help his career. And maybe also solve a problem he hasn’t had to deal with for nine years.

“Great!”

“But it has to be next Wednesday at 5:30pm exactly.” It doesn’t. But Hajime wants to make a point.

“Of course. I’ll let him know and make sure he makes arrangements with coaches as necessary.”

“Have a nice day,” Hajime says before he hangs up the phone.

He can feel his head pounding. First the wedding invitation, then the post to the entire world about their childhood, and now a _mysterious_ appointment. Oikawa must have known Hajime would see right through this, he was never an idiot.

“It’s been nine years,” he says out loud, like Oikawa Tooru is there in the room, sitting in front of him. “What the hell do you want from me _now_?”  He thinks that he can’t say that to the actual Oikawa, not when _it’s been nine years_. Still, Hajime needs about eleven drinks, and it’s not even time for his second cup of coffee.

 

✧

 

They sit in a small ramen shop across from each other as they do once per week, every week. Hajime’s become a creature of habit, and even though he’s only twenty-seven he feels more like a thirty-seven-year-old. Sawamura is practically _married_ to Michimiya, so he supposes that he could be even more boring. Not that Hajime’s life as a late-twenty-something-bachelor is filled with excitement. It hasn’t been for awhile. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously since graduate school, and even that wasn’t really _serious_ since they both knew they might not even end up in the same parts of Japan. And they didn’t. And that was fine, after a few weeks in a weird moping period, and another few months of actually having fun but—

There’s a part of Hajime that wants to settle down. To buy a house. To be in a committed relationship. Now, he’s closer to thirty than to twenty; it’s beginning to feel like a deadline.

Hajime unravels his cloth napkin.

“So, you gave the team’s manager my extension,” he says to Sawamura.

“Yeah, she said someone asked for you specifically.”

“She told me that too.”

“Oikawa?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Who else would do something this ridiculous?”

Sawamura shrugs. He had never known Oikawa well outside of the rivalry between their teams in high school and the stories Hajime has told him. By the time Sawamura and Hajime had met again in grad school and become fast friends, it had been a few years since Hajime had even known Oikawa, but he was over the weird feelings of breaking off the longest, most important friendship of his life. Oikawa Tooru was already in the past when Sawamura Daichi sat down next to him in their first class together five years ago.

“Well, getting married _is_ a big deal. Maybe he’s just re-thinking a lot of how his life has been up until this point, and that’s led to—”

“His weird attempts at getting me to notice him again?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it like that but yeah.”

“You’re engaged to Michimiya and you haven’t started acting all weird.”

“From what you’ve told me,” Sawamura says, “this might not be weird for him.”

Hajime frowns and lets his utensils pause in front of his mouth. Convoluted plans to get what he wants—regardless of what the people involved want—does sound exactly like the Oikawa Tooru that was Hajime once called his best friend. Normally Hajime would talk him down from those plans, but since he no longer had Hajime in his life, maybe that was the reasoning for all this. Oikawa hadn’t explained his elaborate plan to anyone who felt like they could tell him how stupid it was.

“And I didn’t abandon Suga or Asahi when Yui and I started dating,” Sawamura points out.

Hajime presses his lips together. Sawamura didn’t get a 4.7 on his eighteenth birthday, a score leaving a huge gap between him and his two best friends. Hajime has thought about the events leading up to his and Oikawa’s breaking off their friendship, and while the sting of rejection was fresh when he was eighteen, now he’s not entirely sure that he wouldn’t have done the same were he Oikawa.

 _It isn’t just about what I think_ , he had told Hajime.

After a while, when Hajime would start to think about that night, he even felt a little guilty. Still, Hajime is pretty certain had he _not_ been friends with Oikawa he would have fared better with his initial rating. He had never really stopped to consider how his pushing around his best friend may look from outside of themselves. Even though it wasn’t the truth, perhaps he did look like a brute that was jealous of his friend’s popularity.

Despite knowing all of that, he’d rather leave the past in the past. His life is fine without Oikawa Tooru. He’d even say it’s great now. He’s got a career he genuinely enjoys, friends he’s close with. _Sure_ , he’s hopelessly single but it isn’t like his childhood best friend who’s about to get married will fix that. Actually, if Oikawa is at all the same, the thought of his trying to get involved in Hajime’s love life and play matchmaker is absolutely horrifying.

So, maybe his life is a little boring, but Hajime thinks that maybe it’s a sign of adulthood that he finds _boring_ a more than acceptable way to exist.

“I was a dumb teenager,” Hajime admits.

“We all were,” Sawamura says. “You know it took me three-and-a-half years to realize she was flirting with me?”

Hajime snorts. “I fully believe that. Maybe there’s hope for me after all.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Sawamura says, “but I haven’t been flirting with you since grad school. But— Asahi is freshly single.”

Hajime shakes his head. “Nope. No offense Azumane, but I don’t want a tiny, jealous, world-renowned libero on my bad side.”

“Probably a good call. Suga’s been taking bets on when they’ll get back together, though, if you want in on that pool. I think it’s up to $500.”

“I’ll pass on that. All you Karasuno guys probably have an advantage.”

“Probably,” Sawamura admits.

Their server brings their food and places it on the table, accidentally knocking over Hajime’s water in the process. She apologizes profusely to the both of them telling them not to move, that she’ll get napkins and take care of it.

Hajime uses his own cloth napkin to pat at part of the puddle, soaking it fully through in seconds.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just water,” he says to her.

She glances at him worriedly. Hajime tries to give a smile that’s reassuring and not pitying— she probably gets enough of those having a rating of 2.8. She’s nearly toeing the line of being rejected by society as a whole all together.  

When lunch is over Hajime and Sawamura both give her four stars.  It’d be too obvious that they were being pitying if they’d given her five.

“I’m going to take off around three,” Sawamura says, as they walk back in the direction of their offices. “My last appointment is at two-thirty and Yui scheduled a meeting with some planner or other to make decisions she doesn’t really want my input on but that she insists on dragging me to.”

“Sounds—”

“Boring,” Sawamura finishes as they step through the threshold of the clear doors that lead to their practice.

“Well, have… fun?”  

“I’ll try. Have fun with the, ah, ice hockey player?”

Hajime shrugs, because he also doesn’t get the appeal of ice hockey.

 

✧

 

They sit at the bar, each with a beer in front of them— Matsukawa drinks some craft IPA, and Hajime drinks a stout— and Hajime takes a long drink of his before letting out an exhale that he might have been holding since on the phone with Moriyama Haruko at seven-thirty in the goddamn morning.

The sound of an electric guitar plays over the speakers in the bar, but it’s nearly drowned out by the sounds of other voices filling the crowded room. All the people who work their nine-to-five shifts are either drinking here, or headed home to their wives or husbands and children for a well-prepared meal, to be in bed by nine at the latest.  When Hajime gets home all he has is his bare-walled apartment, a fridge full of the meals he prepped for the whole week on Sunday, and his futon.

Maybe that’s part of the reason it was Matsukawa he called, and not one of his geographically closer friends. Hajime has plenty of people in Tokyo that know him well enough to hang out, but he wouldn’t consider them his best friends, or confidants, or anything like that. But people to grab beer with? Those friends he had. Friendships like the ones he had built with Matsukawa and Hanamaki in high school? Those are rare. The only thing comparable, truly, is his friendship with Sawamura. Which is all kinds of awkward when Hajime remembers that Sugawara and Azumane are Sawamura’s best friends. Not him.

Matsukawa places his glass on the table, then clears his throat.

“What was so urgent that you needed me to come all the way to Tokyo and drink with you?” Matsukawa asks. The circle around his face pops up. _Matsukawa 3.9_.  

“The national volleyball team called my office before eight o’clock to ask if I would take on a client.”

“No. No way. Even he couldn’t—”

“But he did. Apparently he _‘requested me specifically’_ and has _‘refused any of their other suggestions.’_ ” Hajime makes air quotes with his fingers in an attempt to mask the odd residual anger.

Matsukawa leans back in his seat. “Shit.”

“That was my first thought too.”

“I’m gonna be honest, Iwaizumi. I feel ten years younger, and not in the good having-fun-and-more-energy way. I mean in the angst-and-drama-filled-life way. I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but apparently I don’t get a say in the matter.”

“You do. You could say _no_.”

“No, I can’t,” Hajime says, “I already said yes.”

Matsukawa lets a strained breath through his nose. “I mean. I guess I’m disappointed, but not surprised. Still, I’m going to ask why you did that.”

“I’m going to tell him. In person.”

Matsukawa takes a slow sip of his beer, then places it down carefully. He looks at Hajime. The expression on his face looks like Hajime has grown an extra head and Matsukawa is trying to be polite by not mentioning it out loud. “Tell him what exactly?”

“That I agreed to be his PT, but he’s not welcome back in my personal life.”

“Because you’ve held a grudge for nine years?”

“Because I _haven’t_ held a grudge for nine years. Actually, it’s the opposite. We moved on, and I’ve been completely content without him since at least sophomore year of college. _Yeah_ , sometimes I miss the friendship I had with him, but he doesn’t have the right to just waltz back into my life after all this time.”

Matsukawa doesn’t look entirely convinced, but instead of saying anything else he takes another sip of his beer.

Hajime hadn’t even noticed he had drained his own, but the bartender must have replaced it with a new one while he wasn’t paying attention, because the glass in front of him is full with dark liquid.

“I’m sleeping on your couch tonight,” Matsukawa tells him, as he drains his own glass.

Hajime makes a noise that acknowledges that fact.  “Thanks,” he says, “I just. I needed to vent to someone, and Sawamura’s busy with his own engagement stuff today, and no one else in Tokyo would really get it anyway.”

Matsukawa hums.

“Anyone who knows _of_ him at only knows his media personality.”

“Well, if he’s anything like the captain of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club, I don’t think it’ll be as simple as telling him to leave you alone and him just dropping it there.”

Hajime leans his elbows against the bar and massages his temples. He wishes he knew Rip Van Winkle’s secret, that he could just sleep through the next few weeks of his life. He grabs the thick bar glass and takes a few sips from it before he says,  “Enough about that. How are things at your new job?”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “My boss is a stickler for annoying rules which sucks. It’s like, is tucking my shirt in really that important? Actually, that makes sense— I’m suddenly going to forget how to write a for loop because the hem of my shirt is over my pants.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Kind of. But the dev stuff isn’t actually that much different from the stuff I did while I was a freelance app developer. And the pay is more stable.”

“I thought you didn’t mind living the life of a starving artist.”

Matsukawa snorts. “It was fun for awhile, but I’d like to eventually not have to live with roommates. I mean— _God_ — we’re almost thirty.”

Hajime makes a _shush_ sound. “Don’t say that so loudly. My mother might hear you and start badgering me about how I still haven’t found a nice girl to settle down with.”

“You should really just tell her that you’re gay.”

“I have. Multiple times. You’ve been there for some of them.”

Matsukawa’s eyes slide over to him, suspiciously. “ _Hajime._ Does your mother think we’re dating?”

“Please never say my name like that again. I’m going to have to burn that from my memory now.”

Matsukawa shrugs, then takes a sip from his new glass.

 

✧

 

Slivers of light paint the wall next to the futon. He hears the running of water in the bathroom and blearily rubs at his eyes. _Matsukawa_ , he belatedly remembers. Yawning, he rolls over and checks his phone. There’s a barrage of notifications that he dismisses without reading before he checks the weather (20 degrees, partly cloudy) and proceeds to get out of bed. He pulls the string on the blinds to let sunlight flood the bedroom of the apartment before making his way into the kitchen and rummaging in the cabinets. He pours a bowl of cereal before realizing he’s out of milk, and swears to himself.

The bathroom door opens, and he spins around to see Matsukawa, a single droplet of water still near his mouth. He must have brushed his teeth and neglected to wipe his mouth after rinsing. Hajime almost wants to laugh at how little his friend has changed over all the past years.

Matsukawa picks at his ear with his pinky. Hajime wants to tell him not to do that, but bites the comment down.

“I’m heading out,” Matsukawa says, “I should probably catch the next train back.”

“Okay,” Hajime says, “do you need me to drive you to the station?”

Matsukawa shakes his head, hand already on the doorknob. “Nah, I’ve got it. I’ll see you in two weeks?”

“Two weeks?” Hajime asks. “What’s in two weeks?”

“We’re throwing Makki a surprise birthday party while he’s in Japan.”

“We? And his birthday isn’t for like six months.”

“Well, that’s why it’ll be a surprise. And yes, _we_ , Iwaizumi. You and me. Me and you.”

“I don’t remember talking about this.”

Matsukawa tilts his head. “We didn’t talk about it. I’m telling you.”

“Please just go catch your train before you give me a headache.”

Matsukawa laughs and says his final goodbye. After the door shuts behind him, the silence permeates every inch of the apartment, settling into the corners and putting Hajime on edge. He’s lived alone—without roommates— for two years. He’s used to silence, and the infrequent irritabilities that come with it. Perhaps some fresh air will help.

There’s a corner store just a short walk’s distance from the apartment complex. After changing into clean clothes and pulling on his sneakers, Hajime decides that if he’s going outside he might as well grab a few necessities he needs. He runs through them in his head: toothpaste, a few different vegetables, maybe a bag of chips for when he’s feeling indulgent. And milk, apparently.  

The walk to the store is a good decision, a nice way to clear his head. The noise pollution of Tokyo permeates every air molecule. Hajime refuses to let the noises of cars driving and honking bother him, despite the fact that every time he has to hear them it makes him miss Miyagi a little more. He remembers being young and thinking how excited he was to visit Sendai on occasion, it was so big and unknown.  He laughs aloud. To think he ended up living in Tokyo.

The corner store is a one-floor room on the ground level of a gray building. Hajime isn’t sure whether it’s apartments or offices in the six stories above the shop. He opens the door to the store and a bell jingles to announce his entrance to the bored-looking teenager working at the counter.

He heads towards the aisle where the toothpaste is, knowing the layout of the store by memory now. He passes by the paper products, registering a person there, and then having to do a double take when he thinks he recognizes the man. He’s dressed like Hajime would have dressed as a university student, in a baggy sweatshirt that stops at his thighs, a pair of athletic shorts to his knees, sneakers, and a baseball cap. There’s no mistaking the lithe build, the awkward shifting from foot to foot, the black hair falling in the other man’s eyes. There’s no mistaking the blue eyes that cut over to him, stare piercing as it is defensive. The white circle pops up, framing his face.

_Kageyama 2.2._

“Kageyama,” Hajime says, when he manages to find his voice.  He has not seen, or even really thought about Kageyama Tobio since his third year in middle school, when he had to get in between Oikawa’s fist and Kageyama’s face. Or his last Spring High, when Karasuno beat them. When Karasuno beat Shiratorizawa. When Oikawa asked Hajime not to leave. He shakes that memory the best he can.

Kageyama looks like he might be ready to run away, or pretend like he hasn’t heard Hajime, or maybe try to fight Hajime.

“It’s been awhile,” he tries.

Kageyama shifts his weight, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah,” he says.

Hajime studies the younger man for a moment. He must be about twenty-five now, but Hajime can barely think of him as older than fifteen. He looks kind of like a drifter, dressed the way he is in the middle of a Saturday morning, in the paper products aisle of a corner store. _2.2_ , Hajime remembers. Maybe Kageyama _is_ a drifter. It’s not like he had ever kept up with updating his profile and timeline— not that Hajime would have noticed if he had with how rarely he keeps up with his own.

“Are you okay?”

Kageyama’s posture shifts; his head lifts, and his eyes glower at Hajime. “What do you mean?”

“I asked if you were okay,” Hajime tries, trying to keep his voice quiet. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Kageyama answers, quick and sharp.

Hajime isn’t convinced, but he thinks it best not to push the topic right now. “What are you doing right now?”

“Buying toilet paper,” Kageyama answers.

“I mean after that.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says. He presses his lips together and appraises Hajime, like he tell just from looking at him what Hajime’s intentions here are.

Hajime snorts, deciding that acting normal is the best thing to do here. He can’t let on that he’s worried about the kid (adult man), but he can’t exactly help it when  “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but I just thought it might be good to catch up with an old kouhai.”

Kageyama lifts his chin slightly, tilting his head to one side. The kid ( _adult man_ , Hajime reminds himself) pouts, which is ridiculous and almost enough to make Hajime laugh. After a moment he says. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Hajime asks.

“Okay.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Hajime asks.

Kageyama shakes his head.

“Okay, let me just, buy what I came here to grab and then we can uh—” Hajime gestures with his hands to convey _whatever_ , and then returns to his hunt for toothpaste. He doesn’t expect Kageyama to follow him, but the younger man does exactly that.

“Is this man bothering you, sir?” another employee, stocking a shelf of mouthwash asks, when they get to the dental care aisle. The older man’s eyes cut between Hajime and Kageyama, likely noticing the large gap in rating.

Hajime shakes his head, “Not at all. Don’t worry about it. I think I noticed a bit of a mess a few aisles over, though.”  He didn’t, actually.

“Oh, my apologies. I’ll go take care of that right away.”

Hajime exhales as the man leaves them alone in the aisle, and he grabs his usual toothpaste, before heading back towards the end of the aisle and to find his other things. He pays for everything and exits the store.

“I need to stop at my place to put this stuff away,” Hajime says, lifting the paper bag slightly. “You can come with me if you want.”

Kageyama narrows his eyes.

“I’m not going to murder you.”

“Okay. But don’t try to mug me either, I don’t have anything.”

Hajime resists the urge to tell Kageyama that he figured that much out on his own, and just starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank all the people who have commented, kudos'd, and subbed to this story so far! 
> 
> thanks again to karinne ([armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks/pseuds/armyofskanks)) for reading this over for me and giving me the advice i asked for. y'all should check out her semishira story, if that's something up your alley.


	3. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "As far as I’m aware, he just stopped showing up like two months before graduation.”

The landlord of Hajime’s apartment building— shitty and lacking in hot water as it is— technically doesn’t allow tenants with a rating below a 3.0. Visitors have more leeway, but he knows exactly what people will think if they see him dragging _Kageyama 2.2_ into his apartment, trying to not get caught.  Low-ratings come with a certain precedent, one that is partially true and that many would say the low-rated members of society have set upon themselves. Society itself complicates the situation, perhaps pinning certain precedents on people unfairly.

The stairwell of the building smells of cigarettes. When they get to the fifth floor and enter the hallway, the strewn pieces of dirt, dust balls, and dryer lint make it clear that no one has vacuumed the place anytime recently. If he were alone, Hajime would grumble under his breath about it. With Kageyama right behind them he manages to restrain himself and behave.

Once they get inside the apartment, he pulls the door closed behind him and brings his bag of groceries from the corner store to the kitchen where he puts the milk and vegetables in the fridge.

“You hungry?” he asks Kageyama, before folding up the paper bag and shoving it underneath a cabinet with countless others.

Kageyama nods his head sharply, but doesn’t say anything.

Not that Hajime really expected him to say much when even he hasn’t wrapped his mind around their current situation. Running into a former kouhai at the corner store and seeing he’s rated below even a 2.5 has left him grasping at straws for what to do. Hajime isn’t the type of person to ignore someone simply because of their rating though— he knows how much that hurts— and so here he is, with _Kageyama 2.2_ in his apartment.

“Okay,” Hajime says, belatedly deciding that while they’re both here and hungry, he may as well cook breakfast. Maybe it’s lunch now, as the time on the digital clock of the stove is closer to noon than early morning.

A line of counters separates the kitchen from the living room. It’s a small space to work in, but it’s big enough to store all of the essentials that Hajime needs, living by himself. The tops are a false marble, sticky from being used so often to the point where all the scrubbing in the world has left Hajime at a loss of how to fix them.

“You can sit down if you want,” he says to Kageyama, motioning to the living room. “Unless you want a tour of a one-bedroom apartment?”

Kageyama furrows his brow, trying to decide whether Hajime is teasing him.

Hajime laughs, despite himself. “I’m kidding. Are eggs okay? Or do you want something more appropriate for lunch?”

Kageyama’s face twists into one of a highly offended twenty-five-year-old who may still be stuck with the maturity of someone younger, but he says, “Eggs are fine.”

Hajime doesn’t bother to spend too much time questioning it and bends down to find a frying a pan before turning on the stove and pulling things out of the fridge. “I don’t know what you like in them,” he says, “do you have a preference?”

Kageyama shakes his head. “No.”

Letting out a breath, Hajime leans forward on the counter, his palms holding part of his weight up. “I don’t care that you’re a 2.2. What do you like in your eggs?”

“Onion and radish,” Kageyama says.

He speaks sharper than Hajime expected. He raises his eyebrows before realizing what he’s doing and forcing his face to return to a neutral expression.  “Onion and radish it is,” he says, turning to the stove to crack four eggs over the pan.

Cooking isn’t something that Hajime enjoys doing so much as he knows it is a necessity, like cleaning the bathroom. Still, he enjoys the meals he cooks now far more than the instant food and take-out his diet consisted of during university and graduate school.

After he finishes cooking, he pulls two plates out of a top shelf and divides up the food.

Kageyama stands and watches him, eyes narrowed, until he says, “You can eat. I just need to wash up.”

After he quickly washes down the pan and wipes down the stovetop, he stands across the counter from Kageyama and starts eating his own food. Kageyama looks down at his plate intently, eating as if he hasn’t seen food in days.  Maybe he hasn’t. Hajime doesn’t really know much about how the low-rated live, but he knows it isn’t good.

“So,” Hajime asks, “you live in Tokyo now?”

Kageyama nods.

Hajime takes a deep breath after swallowing a mouthful of food and asks, “What do you… do now?”  

Kageyama abruptly drops his chopsticks on the plate and says, “Thank you for the food, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime furrows his brow. “You’re welcome.”

“I need to go,” Kageyama says, without skipping a beat. He stands up from where he sits on a stool across the counter.

Hajime considers apologizing before he realises that the other is already halfway to the door. “Kageyama,” he says, and waits for blue eyes to glance in his direction and meet his, “if you need anything, you can come here again. Okay?”

Kageyama just nods then shuts the door behind him.

  
✧

 

“Good morning, Iwaizumi-san,” Suzuki greets him.

“Good morning," he replies with a nod.

Suzuki’s been working at the front desk of the physical therapy office since he and Sawamura opened it together two years ago. Her blond hair is twisted at the nape of her neck in a style that he can’t name, but if Michimiya were here pestering Sawamura about some wedding appointment, he’d probably ask her. Suzuki wears a plain white button up and dark pants to work every day, and a pair of short heels that Hajime can’t imagine are the most comfortable, but he doesn’t question her.

As the sound of her greeting washes over him, bright on a Monday morning, Hajime relishes the much-needed normalcy it brings. Normalcy that he hasn’t had in the last few days of his life. Perhaps he is getting old, at twenty-seven, because all he wants is some peace and quiet, and no more surprises.

Instead of heading to his own office, he takes a right when he reaches the back hallway and knocks on white door.

“Come in!” Sawamura calls from the other side of the door.

Pushing open the door, Hajime leans against the white door frame and then raises his eyebrows at the sight in front of him. Sawamura wears thin wire-framed glasses, his shoes— white sneakers— rest on his desk, and he cradles his phone in both hands.

“I see you’re working hard,” Hajime says.

Sawamura smirks back. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Yui’s got me looking at all these pictures of other people’s weddings. The photographer she wanted to hire is out of our budget, so we’re back to square one on that.”

“How’s that going?”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell the difference between who knows how to edit lighting best. They all just  look like wedding pictures to me.”

“Sounds like a difficult life.”

“If I had a volleyball,” Sawamura says, “I’d throw it at you.”

“That’s supposed to be my signature.”

Sawamura laughs at that. He presses a button on his phone before placing it face down on his desk and pulling his glasses off.  “How was your weekend?” He asks, as he pretends to organize file folders on his desk.

Hajime sighs. “Oh yeah, there was a reason I came looking for you. Did you ever hear about what happened to Kageyama after he graduated from Karasuno?”

Raising his eyebrows, Sawamura says, “That’s a name I haven’t heard in awhile.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, thinking, _Kageyama 2.2_.  “I’d expect you haven’t.”

“Well,” Sawamura says, “for one thing he didn’t graduate. As far as I’m aware, he just stopped showing up like two months before graduation.”

“Two months? Why not just finish?”

Sawamura shrugs, then lets his feet fall from his desk. He stands up to walk around it until he stands closer to Hajime. The other physical therapist is a few centimeters shorter, barely noticeable except for when they’re standing eye-to-eye, and he crosses his arms and leans back against his desk.

“From what I understand,” Sawamura says, “—and I wasn’t there when this happened, obviously, I was studying kinesiology at Tokyo University, so take it with a grain of salt— Kageyama’s rating was so low when he turned eighteen that the colleges that scouted him all rescinded their offers. I suspect the last one rescinded in January and that’s why he dropped out with two months left.”

“They rescinded their offers? But he’s a genius setter.”

“ _Was_ a genius setter, I don’t think he’s been on a court since his last high school tournament.”

“Shit,” Hajime says, flatly. If a guy like Kageyama Tobio—someone who was so amazing at volleyball that Oikawa Tooru felt threatened— didn’t get into college because of his rating…

He’d always known, of course, that the rating system was important. Almost everything, including universities, were ruled by the rating systems. But surely talent, work ethic, achievements— surely those things could outweigh the rating system.

The lowest Hajime had ever been was a 3.5, not necessarily considered low-rated but certainly not the cream of the crop. Sure he didn’t get into Tokyo University for undergrad, but he was convinced that had more to do with his mediocre literature and math grades. What would have happened had he gone to the same school as Oikawa? Would his score have ever stabilized or would he still be stuck in the setter’s shadow?

At least he’d been able to go to university though, unlike—

“Do you mind if I pry?” Sawamura asks, pulling Hajime away from his thoughts, “Why the sudden interest in Kageyama?”

“I saw him,” Hajime says, “on Saturday.”

“You saw him on Saturday?”

“Yeah I went out to get groceries and toothpaste and there he was looking at toilet paper. He was kind of dressed like we used to be dressed for that one eight o’clock lecture in grad school and—”  Hajime cuts himself off before he lets out that Kageyama’s rating is currently a 2.2. Not that Sawamura couldn’t find out if he wanted to

“And?”

“And I ended up making breakfast for him at my apartment.”

“I assume his rating hasn’t improved greatly since high school?”

Hajime shrugs, unsure of how to answer that. He has no idea what Kageyama’s rating was in high school. If it was bad enough for the colleges to overlook his volleyball skills and simply rescind their offers, then perhaps it _has_ improved. Probably slowly, and very little, if at all. But still, he’s at least above 2.0. Not that that means much of anything.

“I doubt it could have been much worse,” Hajime says.

He doesn’t remember Kageyama being a particularly rude or obnoxious kid. Oikawa would likely disagree with that assessment, but from what Hajime remembers, Kageyama was at worst a little abrasive and intense, but not someone who should be rated so poorly on his eighteenth birthday because of it. Then again, Hajime didn’t expect to be rated below a four on his own eighteenth birthday, and his understanding of how such things were assigned had not improved over the years.

Maybe there was something inherent in the initial rating algorithm that worked against Kageyama. Maybe it was the same thing that worked against him nine years ago.

“I think I insulted him accidentally because he just got up and left the second he was finished eating. Not that I really knew what to do with him there otherwise.”

Sawamura shrugs. “Well, unless you find him again you’ll probably never find out.”

“I doubt those odds,” Hajime says.

“I hate to make this comparison,” Sawamura says, “but you know what they say about feeding stray dogs.”

“Kageyama isn’t a dog,” Hajime says.

“I know that. But I also know the differences between humans and other animals are a lot fewer than many of us want to admit.”

Hajime shakes his head. “I knew talking to you would be a waste of time.” He turns on his heel to leave Sawamura’s office, key in hand to unlock his own. “Don’t wait up for me at lunch, by the way,” he calls over his shoulder,  “I’ve got a patient who insisted I see her at exactly twelve.”

He heads back to his own office, wondering how many schools exactly rescinded offers from Kageyama based on his rating.

 

✧

 

After work, Hajime climbs to the fifth floor of his apartment building and heads down the hallway trying to find his apartment key, when he notices a figure sitting outside of the door to apartment 509.  They have long, pale legs, they’re wearing a hooded sweatshirt and basketball shorts, and they have on a pair of flip-flops.

“Kageyama,” Hajime says. “What are you doing here?”

“You said I could come back,” Kageyama says, eyebrows furrowing.

“I did, and you can, but I just want to know why now.”

“I don’t— I just wanted to.”

Hajime wants to push, wants to ask what exactly is going on in Kageyama’s life that he’s showed up on Hajime’s doorstep three days after seeing each other again for the first time after not having really spoken in almost twelve years. But he doesn’t know what words to use to ask, and the hallway of his apartment building is not the place.

“Okay,” Hajime says, unlocking the door to his apartment, “come on in.”

He likes to keep the temperature a little chilly, and stepping over the threshold of the apartment door a wall of cool air greets him. The stairwell and hallway which the landlord insists on keeping at twenty-six degrees— completely unreasonable, in Hajime’s opinion— always draw beads of sweat from Hajime’s skin, much to his distaste.

He slips off his work shoes and loosens his tie, dropping his bag in the hallway before heading to the living room and sitting on the sofa.

“Have a seat,” he tells Kageyama.

Kageyama, barefoot and swimming in his sweatshirt, sits across from Hajime on the floor. Hajime wants to tell Kageyama he meant on the sofa or one of the sitting chairs, but he doesn’t think that would be appropriate right now.

He rubs his hands on the knees of his work pants and he asks Kageyama, “Do you want to tell me how long you’ve been waiting at my front door?”

Kageyama shrugs, “A couple hours.”

“You could have called me,” Hajime says, “my profile has all my contact info on it.”

Kageyama shakes his head. “My phone is broken.”

Or he doesn’t have a phone, a voice that Hajime doesn’t believe to be particularly helpful at this moment tells him.

“Okay,” Hajime says.

He pauses and takes a deep breath before looking at his old kouhai, now twenty-five, now a 2.2, now a disgraced genius setter who dropped out of high school two months before graduation.  

“Kageyama, I don’t know what to do unless you tell me why you’re here.”

“I felt—” Kageyama bites his bottom lip and pauses. When he continues speaking, he avoids looking Hajime in the eye, “The other day I thought at first that you were just being nice to me because you pitied me. And then I think I just felt overwhelmed being treated like an equal by someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Hajime asks.

“A four.”

Hajime thinks he understands, but he wants to know more. Still, he figures he has enough answers about that for now, and he’s just thought of another question that he finds a bit more disconcerting.

“Wait a second,” he says, “how did you get into this building?”

Kageyama shrugs, “A woman held the door for me.”

“Seriously?”

The other residents of the apartment building just holding the door open for whoever they see fit irks him slightly. So much for not worrying about his valuables being taken while he’s at work. At least that he knows this time it was just Kageyama.

Hajime glances at his former kouhai; how well does he really know Kageyama? He can’t imagine that having such a low rating has resulted in positive changes since the kid dropped out of high school. In many ways, Hajime is looking at a perfect stranger.

“Kageyama,” he says, careful to stay non-accusatory when he asks, “what do you want from me?”

“Can I stay here?” the younger man asks in a moment of boldness.

“Why?” Hajime asks, “I just— that’s not a no—I just need to know what’s going on.”

“I don’t like where I live.”

“Okay,” he says carefully, “why not?”

“There are roaches. And there used to be bed bugs. And there’s six other people and two kids living in a two-bedroom apartment. And, I can’t always make rent so the landlord…” Kageyama trails off, eyes looking away from Hajime. He fidgets in his place on the floor, pulling at the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he says,  “He has us make up for it in other ways.”

It’s not even a decision Hajime thinks about.

“You can stay,” he says. The bleak life of someone rated low being treated so horribly is unfathomable, and Hajime doesn’t really want to hear more. But now, Kageyama is here, asking Hajime for help. He tries hard not to think too much about how often he’s ignored people rated below a 3.0 on the sidewalk of Tokyo when he says,  “As long as you need, you can stay.”

 

✧

 

In his office, Hajime watches the seconds on the clock tick by until his final appointment of the day.  He’s not really sure what to expect out of seeing Oikawa Tooru again for the first time in nine years; he’s sure that Oikawa will outdo his expectations. That’s not a good thing, the ticking of the clock is starting to put him on edge. With every fiber of his being, he wills the appointment to be just that. An appointment between a physical therapist and a new patient.

Suzuki stops by his office and pokes her head in, blonde hair cascading down one shoulder. “Oikawa Tooru is here, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime nods and then gets up from his desk and heads to find Oikawa.

Hajime hears him before he sees him; Oikawa whistles to himself while he waits. The room’s walls are white, with black-and-white pictures of sports stars, and Oikawa’s pastel clothes are a stark difference from it.  He wears a pink button up shirt and blue shorts. Not that Hajime should be surprised. All of Oikawa’s pictures on the feed are of him wearing pastels, standing next to Kudo, her dark auburn-tinted hair always perfectly catching the sun.

He isn’t surprised she and Oikawa have lasted this long, but he’d be lying if he claimed he wouldn’t have drawn some twisted satisfaction from hearing about a break-up back when they were all in at their separate universities.

When Hajime knocks on the frame of the open door of the patient room, Oikawa jumps slightly and then turns. He looks nearly unchanged since high school. His hair is perfectly done, eyes wide and the color of milk chocolate, skin pale, jaw sharp. He’s filled out a bit, now as muscular as Hajime would expect a national athlete to be. Hajime’s fingertips tingle and his heart-rate quickens. He tells himself that his physiological reaction to seeing his once best friend is inexplicable.

“Iwa-chan!” _Oikawa 4.9_ chirps at him.

“Don’t call me that,” Hajime says, already feeling like he’s touched a heated stove.

Oikawa scrunches his nose, “What, am I supposed to call you Iwaizumi-san?”

“That _is_ what my clients call me, Oikawa-san. Now, do you want to tell me what brings you here today?”

“That’s all I get now after nine years?”

Hajime glares.

“I’m high risk for injury so I need a physical therapist on call,” Oikawa says, demeanor immediately snapping to professional. Until he grins and says, “When I found out Iwa-chan was a physical therapist in Tokyo of course I needed it to be him!”

Hajime sighs and looks down at the black shoes on his feet. “Oikawa,” he says, voice a warning. “Don’t do this right now.”

“You agreed to be my physical therapist. I thought— I thought you’d agreed because you wanted to be friends again too.” Oikawa’s voice becomes dark and Hajime almost remembers another life, a life when that voice would have made him come running, would have made him do anything it asked of him. That’s not this life though.

“I agreed because your manager said you refused every other option, and she promised this would help the business that I started with Sawamura.”

Oikawa frowns, standing as he says, “Fine. You’re already familiar with my knee problems, though, so let’s not bother wasting either of our time.”

Hajime sighs and motions for Oikawa to sit back down. “Wait a few minutes at least, I’m familiar with your knee problem but I’m not familiar with it as your physical therapist.”

“I can find someone else, Iwaizumi-san,” Oikawa says, and Hajime flinches at the nickname once again. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s obvious you don’t want me here.”

“You can stay,” Hajime says, “but you have to understand that you’re here as my client. We’re not friends. I’m not interested in going back down that road with you.”

Oikawa nods and let Hajime proceed with the appointment.

He ends up asking a lot of information for his records. Some questions he already knows the answer to like “How long has this chronic condition been a problem?” and “Does this condition regularly impair you?” He asks about what sort of treatment his last physical therapist had him go through, and then finally he asks Oikawa to try moving his leg, to try walking, while he observes and writes down the things he would for any other patient.  

“Okay,” Hajime says, at last, “that’s it for today. I’m going to recommend you continue the exercises your last PT recommended for when it’s flaring up or sore. Otherwise, you know where to call if you have any major issues. Any questions?”

Oikawa lets out a puff of breath through his nose. “I thought a lot about what I wanted to say to you when we saw each other again, Iwa— Iwaizumi-san. And one day I’m going to tell you everything I’ve wanted to for years and years, but I’m going to wait until you’re ready to listen.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “You always just have to be melodramatic, don’t you.”

Oikawa grins at that, and Hajime lets himself grin back before shaking his head. “I’ll see you around Oikawa. Hopefully not too soon though— don’t do something stupid to hurt yourself.”

That could have gone worse, Hajime thinks to himself as he heads back towards his office. The world didn’t implode, for one thing. While he had known Oikawa would be here today, his nerves clearly betrayed him initially, but there wasn’t really anything major to worry about.

A lot can change in nine years. He’s not the same person he was at eighteen. And he likes to think he’s changed for the better.  Perhaps Oikawa has changed too.

 

✧

 

Sawamura has his spring jacket pulled on, but hasn’t zipped it up yet and the strap of his bag is clutched in one hand. He stands in the doorway of the office, eyes watching Hajime carefully as if trying to read him.  It’s a look Hajime has gotten used to since grad school. Often times Sawamura would interrogate him like a disappointed parent. Not that Hajime didn’t return the favor. Back then it was as if they took turns trying to figure out if the other was getting enough sleep and eating right. He supposes it makes sense they ended up best friends and business partners after three years of that.

“How did things go with Oikawa?”

“Fine,” Hajime says, “I’m just finishing up some paperwork then I’m heading out for the day, too.”

“Fine?” Sawamura asks, raising his eyebrows, “That’s all I get?”

“Well, as fine as it could have gone, I suppose.” Hajime pauses. He watches Sawamura for a moment, then turns the office chair behind his desk slightly as he says, “He called me Iwa-chan. Twice. Once after I told him not to do that.”

“Oh? _Iwa-chan,_ eh? Shall I start calling you that when we’re out at lunch?”

“Not if you want me to keep calling you my friend.”

Sawamura shrugs. “Might be worth it. So that’s it? He tried to use an old nickname on you and then just let you continue with the appointment?”

Hajime bites his bottom lip for a moment, tapping the end of a his pen against his desk. He shakes his head. “He seemed pretty adamant about trying to be my friend again.”

“Well,” Sawamura says and his eyes do that thing like he’s a father talking to his son, despite the fact that Hajime is six months older. “What do you think you’re going to do about that? He invited you to his wedding, right? Do you think his coming here and trying to be friends again has do with that?”

Hajime shakes his head. “I think the invite to his wedding and his coming here have to do with him trying to be my friend, not the other way around.”  He also thinks he should have been a detective if he wanted to ever figure Oikawa out, but that might only have prepared him marginally better. And Hajime really doesn’t think detective work is fitting for someone like himself.

“You know,” he says, after a moment of silence, “I used to be in love with him in high school. Maybe I’m still holding that against him.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re holding his abandoning your friendship against him.”

“It’s been nine years,” he says. “Nine years.”

Sawamura shrugs. “Time doesn’t heal all wounds. As your friend, I personally hope he does more than attempt to harass you at your workplace before you forgive him— if that’s what you’re planning on doing.”

“Right,” Hajime says. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Michimiya I said hi.”

“I’ll let her know,” Daichi says, before stepping backward, away from Hajime’s office. “Don’t stay in here too late. I don’t want to come in to a tired business partner tomorrow.”

With that, the light in his office is the only one left on in their small business space.  Hajime is more used to being the last one left in the office than the first one in in the mornings. This to him is comforting. On more than one occasion he’s made instant ramen in the microwave of the small office break room and eaten dinner here himself. Tonight, though, he reminds himself that he has food at home he needs to cook and use and forces himself to leave a few minutes after Sawamura, shoving Oikawa’s papers into a folder to be filed and mostly forgotten about.

Oikawa left with words that made Hajime believe he _was_ going to do a lot more than harass him at his workplace. Whether Hajime is holding his old secret crush on Oikawa against him, or Oikawa’s obliterating of their friendship needs to get figured out before the volleyball player plans his next move.

That is, assuming he hasn’t planned out the entire match already.

 

✧

 

Hajime unlocks his apartment door and pushes it open. The only light that enters the apartment filters in from the edges of the curtains, painting most of the living room and kitchen in a gray, lifeless color. God, he thinks for the millionth time as he flips on the hallway light, he can’t wait for his lease to be up.

He spent the subway ride and subsequent drive home thinking about how things had ended with Oikawa all those years ago. How after Karasuno’s game at Spring High he had left when Oikawa asked him to stay.  He’s not a fool, of course, he doesn’t think things would be much different now. Oikawa wouldn’t have given up his future career on the national team for him in any capacity, even as friends, and that’s something that Hajime doesn’t know how to forgive, nine years post-mortem.  And of course nothing would have ever happened between them romantically. Oikawa is marrying a woman in his social grouping, and now there’s no way Hajime can imagine differently.

The bedroom door of the apartment creaks open and Hajime startles. He looks over to see Kageyama, hair a mess. Hajime had given Kageyama the bed and taken the couch himself the last few nights. He’d also let the younger man borrow his clothes while Hajime considered burning Kageyama’s at the thought of bed bugs, but settled for running them through the dryer on the highest setting four times after washing them in hot water.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asks.

Kageyama shakes his head.

“Are you hungry?”

Kageyama nods.

Hajime starts rummaging around to throw together a meal that won’t take too long to cook but won’t result in high blood pressure as he says, “I don’t know if you found it in the fridge, but Sawamura told me you used to like milk. I don’t know if that’s still something you want but I’m not going to drink it, so.”

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime lets a breath out through his nose and grins, pulling out ingredients and placing them on the countertop. He looks at Kageyama and says, “I think you can drop the honorific, kid. You’re sleeping in my apartment.”

Kageyama pours the milk into a glass, filling it to the brim, and downs it as Hajime turns to the stove to start cooking noodles and vegetables.  Normally, he’d make something a little more than that, but it’s already been a long day at work.

They eat in silence. Hajime’s gotten used to that the past couple of days.  After they finish eating and wash their dishes, Hajime excuses himself to take a shower, which he makes as quick as possible so that he’s not left alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s done enough of that today.

“You’re upset,” Kageyama says when Hajime emerges from the bathroom in a tee-shirt and loose sweatpants, towel draped over his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Hajime says.

“You’re upset because I’m staying here,” Kageyama says. He means is as a question, given the way his eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow and his mouth bunches up.

“No,” Hajime says, “I’m not upset because you’re staying here.”

Kageyama presses his lips together and doesn’t look at Hajime for a few seconds. Then he asks, “Then why?”

Hajime sighs, and sits on the couch leaving about a foot between he and Kageyama. The past few days he’s been careful not to crowd the younger man like he’s some sort of skittish stray that might run away if Hajime gets too close. The hyper awareness of another person living in his house has probably contributed to wearing him down, if he’s being honest.

“Is it because I took your bed? I can sleep on the couch. I should sleep on the couch. Please let me take the couch, Iwaizumi-san.”

While sleeping in his own bed sounds far more comfortable than the couch, Hajime doesn’t think he can just take away something he insisted on giving to the younger man. And besides, that’s not what’s bothering him.

“That’s not it,” Hajime says, reaching over to ruffle Kageyama’s hair in a gesture reminiscent of his days as a senpai.

Kageyama’s silky hair slides through Hajime’s fingertips. The feel of it surprises him, so his hand lingers for a moment too long. When he realizes how what he’s doing might seem, he clears his throat and starts to pulls his hand away.

Something hits his face forcefully and it takes him a second to realize it’s Kageyama’s face. Kageyama is kissing him, and his mouth slightly hurts from the initial impact. Hajime pulls away for a split second, readjusting to kiss him better. His lips press against chapped ones, softly and just for a moment, while his palm and fingertips come to rest on Kageyama’s cheek.

Belatedly he thinks maybe Kageyama believes he owes Hajime something for letting him stay. Hajime feels sick to his stomach.

When he pulls away he says, “I’m not upset with you at all. You don’t have to do anything here, okay?”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Kageyama repeats, face pulling into itself in confusion.

“You don’t,” Hajime says again.  He stands up and says, “I’m going to make some tea.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks once again to the wonderful karinne ([armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks)) for reading this over and catching weird shit that i was apparently too blind to find on my own.


	4. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “So,” he starts, “what happened last night. You kissing me. That can’t happen again, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are sensitive to certain mature content, i have put a small **content warning** in the end notes that you should check out.

Like most mornings, especially in the summer, the sun rises before Hajime. He wakes with a start on the couch, the light that spills from the half-closed shades hitting his eyes. What time is it?  It doesn’t matter, he tells himself when his phone reads 06:00 in black text on a bright lock-screen _,_ he won’t be able to fall back asleep now. He might as well start his day.

Groaning, he slowly sits up on the couch, massaging his own neck with two fingers. This whole sleeping-on-the-couch thing sucks. Maybe he should ask Kageyama if he doesn’t mind giving the bed up. Hajime groans again, head falling into his hands at the thought of the younger man. The door to the bedroom is closed, and Hajime assumes that means Kageyama’s asleep still. Which is fine— better than fine actually, it’s preferable— it’s too early to think about it. Hajime’s brain doesn’t seem to care, replaying his kiss with _Kageyama 2.2_ over and over again.

“Fuck,” he says aloud, as if cussing works like a spell that will let him forget the entire thing even happened.

They’ll have to talk about it at some point. He’s still not entirely convinced that Kageyama recognizes what Hajime needs to make completely and utterly clear: He does not expect anything from Kageyama for letting him stay in this small, shitty, one-bedroom apartment.

Even as Hajime thinks it, he notices paint peeling off the wall beside the couch, the dents in the flimsy material holding up the ceiling that came almost mysteriously— Hajime can’t place any one of them with a specific event, but his gut says to blame Matsukawa— and all the wear-and-tear that would trick an outsider into believing Hajime has lived here for five years, not two.

That doesn’t matter, he reminds himself as he stands up and stretches his arms upward and bends back slightly.  His lease is almost up, and then he can move on.

Hajime takes a shower and a bath, even though he normally bathes at night, because he doesn’t wake up with this early and now has too much much free time. Once he’s redressed and exits the bathroom, he rounds the corner and jumps at the sight of Kageyama leaning forward against his kitchen counter.

“Kageyama,” he says, breathing returning to normal, “I didn’t hear you wake up.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says. And then, “There’s no more milk.”

“I—” Hajime pauses, not expecting the words that Kageyama actually has said to him. When he realizes what they are he finishes with a different thought than he started. “—will pick some up after work.”

A deafening silence follows the exchange, hanging so heavily that Hajime nearly can’t say anything at all; he’s too suffocated, nearly choking.  It’s still so early, and he has to leave for work in just a half hour. He could put it off.

Realistically, Hajime knows that isn’t an option. Putting it off will only cause him to think more about it. It’s best if he don’t go into work guilt-ridden because he’s overthinking about inadvertently taking advantage of his former middle school kohai.

“So,” he starts, “what happened last night. You kissing me. That can’t happen again, okay?”

Kageyama’s eyes narrow in a way that Hajime knows means he’s trying to read him. Hajime forces himself to keep his composure. That proves difficult, however, when Kageyama says, “You kissed back.”

It’s a statement, simple enough. Still, it rings against Hajime’s ears; an accusation against a guilty man.

“I did, yes, but I shouldn’t have. I just want to make sure that it’s clear that I don’t expect anything from you while you’re staying here. I’m helping you out as a favor between friends, no strings attached.”

“Friends?” Kageyama asks, lines between his eyebrows as if he’s having trouble hearing.

“Yes,” Hajime repeats, “Friends.”

Kageyama’s eyebrows pull even tighter together, the lines between them deepening. Hajime isn’t entirely sure what else to say, where else this could possibly go. He believes he’s made his position clear enough.

Kageyama seems to disagree with Hajime’s inner self-dialogue, because he says, “What if I wanted to?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Kiss you. I mean,” Kageyama frowns, trying to find the words.

Hajime waits patiently. He walks to the other side of the counter, and stands opposite the blue-eyed man, leaning forward on his forearms.

“I can’t— I mean, I just wanted to.”

Hajime gulps at the admission, face heating up against his will. What should he do in this situation? He’s no psychologist, but he’s pretty sure this is probably some kind of transference. Kageyama only thinks he likes Hajime because he’s helping him out. Right?  

But the kiss has already happened. They can’t undo that. Still, there was something nice about feeling Kageyama’s lips against his own.  Hajime had given up on the idea of earth-shattering kisses a while ago. Last night’s kiss is no different. _Nice_ is pretty tempting on its own. And Kageyama is someone that Hajime knows and genuinely cares about, even if it has been twelve years since they’ve been on the same team.

Kageyama shuffles, then backs away from the counter.

“Wait,” Hajime says, not wanting him to misinterpret the new silence between them. “I have to make breakfast and then go to work, but let’s talk about this another time, okay?”

Kageyama nods, then makes his escape back towards Hajime’s bedroom door. Hajime lets him go. There’s nothing else he can say right now, not without determining what he should do. He really doesn’t want to take advantage of someone who needs help; who he’s already decided to help.

But barring the circumstances of their current living arrangements, what’s really stopping him?

 

✧

 

Fridays are always good days. For one thing, Hajime nearly always takes a half day on Fridays, and for another, he doesn’t work weekends. Today is an especially good day because there are only clients of his coming in, and he has over an hour between them, and he’s done at twelve.

He arrives to the physical therapy office at 8:30 in the morning, his usual time of arrival. Suzuki greets him at the front desk, still alone as the other receptionist is on vacation. He greets her back. Everything feels normal. Just like Wednesday morning, just like yesterday morning. He’ll have to talk to Sawamura about giving Suzuki a raise and then make her swear to never quit this job.

A familiar voice, loud and energetic, comes from down the back hall where their offices are. Hajime really shouldn’t interrupt Sawamura if he’s with a patient, but normally the patients don’t follow them to their offices after being seen. Which means it’s one of two people, and Kuroo Tetsurou is more snarky than he is loud.

Sure enough, _Bokuto 4.6_ — who doesn’t even stop to take a breath in the story he’s telling Sawamura to say hi to Hajime— sits across from Sawamura in the small office. Sawamura’s office is more neat than Hajime’s, and better decorated. Though the latter detail likely has more to do with Michimiya coming to visit during her lunch break twice a week than Sawamura knowing anything about decorating.

“Anyway,” Bokuto says, “I can’t believe you asked Kuroo to be a groomsman, and not me.”

“Bokuto,” Sawamura says, face as serious as he can possibly make it (a terrifying look, in Hajime’s opinion), “we only had room in the wedding party for four. And after Suga, Asahi, and Iwaizumi, there was only one spot left.”

Bokuto looks to Hajime and glares at him, but Hajime knows better than to think it’s a serious look. The wing spiker and serious aren’t two things that Hajime associates with one another, at least not at the surface level he’s gotten to know Bokuto on.

“Kuroo is in Oikawa’s wedding party too, and guess who’s not?” Bokuto says, “Me. It’s like neither of you really appreciate me.”

Sawamura rolls his eyes. “But, you know full well that if Kuroo ever gets married you’re going to be the first on the list. I don’t know why you’re complaining, anyway, you hate wearing suits. Though, Yui will actually murder you if you try to wear volleyball shorts like you threatened to do at dinner on Sunday.”

Bokuto ignores the last comment. “You know, I don’t even want to be in your wedding Sawamura, but it would have been nice to have been asked.”

“Is he always this much of a diva?” Hajime asks Sawamura.

“Most of the time, yeah,” Sawamura says.

Bokuto makes a noise like he’s insulted, but Hajime turns to leave. The mention of Oikawa’s wedding has Hajime’s nerves buzzing in his brain. Of course the national team would all have been invited to the wedding, and of course most of them would show up. Bokuto obviously doesn’t realize what the mention of the wedding means to Hajime. In all likelihood, Oikawa hasn’t even mentioned that Hajime was invited, or if he has he probably played it off casually and in passing, omitting the fact that he went so far as to become Hajime’s client after nine years of nothing.

Hajime wonders what Oikawa’s teammates would think if they knew. He wonders if Oikawa has even mentioned how unlikely it is that Hajime will show up to the wedding. Not after such a long time of near radio silence. Not after how things ended when Hajime had never expected to hear from him again.

Not when he’d been so cold the last time Oikawa tried.

Once, during a university break, Oikawa had showed up at the front door of the Iwaizumi household. Hajime had not told his parents about their falling out— he never did after the fact either just sort of let Oikawa fade into the background and out of his life— so his mother had let him in without question. He came upstairs to Hajime’s bedroom, pestering him with questions about university life in Miyagi and how were Makki and Mattsun (to which Hajime had said _Why don’t you ask them?_ ) and was Iwa-chan seeing anyone.

It had taken all of Hajime’s willpower and self-control to not snap at Oikawa and yell at him to leave and never come back. Instead he responded with the coldest words he could, or just ignored him. He figured Oikawa would eventually get bored and give up.

He thought when Oikawa left, deservedly dejected, it was the last Hajime would ever hear from him.

His cell phone buzzes insistently in his pocket, taking him out of his thoughts. It’s an unrecognized number. Hajime hesitates. It could be someone who actually needs something from him, he realizes. Kageyama’s phone is supposedly broken, though. He almost lets it go to voicemail but at the last second decides to pick up.

“Iwaizumi,” Hajime answers his phone.

“ _Iwa-chan!_ ”

“No,” Hajime says. He’s about to pull the phone away from his ear to hang up, but he has the presence of mind to first ask, “How did you even get this number?”

“It’s on your profile. And it’s the same one you had in high school!”

“I’m hanging up,” he says.

“Wait,” Oikawa says, “just first agree to meet me for lunch tomorrow.”

“I won’t do that,” he says, “I’m not doing this with you, Oikawa. I told you Wednesday.”

“Well,” Oikawa says into the phone, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Really, Hajime should have seen that coming. Oikawa hasn’t really changed all that much in nine years after all.

Hajime lets a heavy breath out through his nose. He says, “I’ll think about it.”

“Yes! See, I knew you’d come around. I’ll text you the details later today.”

He tries to say that he hasn’t actually technically agreed but before the words can come Oikawa ends the call.

“Damn it,” Hajime says, looking down at the phone.

He tells himself he’s not actually thinking about meeting Oikawa tomorrow. He really only said he’d think about it to get his shitty former best friend to leave him alone. Still, in the silence of his office after the phone call, Hajime finds himself wondering what might happen were he to actually show up. He can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s the one being immature, holding onto a grudge that’s likely past its expiration date.

 

✧

 

Kageyama’s sitting on the couch, concentrating on the television, when Hajime walks into his apartment after work. The news is on, something about ratings and how there’s been an uptick in hacks to illegally alter people’s ratings. Hajime stands for a moment at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room— the carpeting of the living room ending just at the tips of his toes, giving way to the linoleum of the kitchen floor— watching as a newscaster says that there’s been an uptick in illegal buying of high ratings.

The news presenter, a man in a suit with a face that Hajime won’t remember the second the camera pans away from him, talks about ways to identify falsified ratings. It costs a considerable amount of money, apparently; the news presenter talks about a hacker from the Shibuya district who was just arrested for accepting fifty-thousand american dollars to change ratings of an aspiring celebrity.  Fifty-thousand american dollars, from a single customer.

It sure is an interesting business model.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of doing _that_ ,” Hajime says.

“I’m not,” Kageyama says, not flinching or even looking in Hajime’s direction, “I wouldn’t. I don’t know how to hack computers anyway.”  

He says it in a way that makes Hajime wonder if he wishes he did know how to hack computers.  Not that Hajime can blame him; it seems lucrative if morally grey.

They still haven’t talked about whatever it was Kageyama was trying to tell him yesterday morning. Hajime isn’t entirely sure how to broach the topic, or if he even should. This might be something better left to rest, but the silence between them strains.

“Hey,” he says.

Kageyama glances over at him, bangs falling in his eyes. Hajime remembers the day in the corner store, when he saw Kageyama for the first time in years.

“Let’s go out to dinner tomorrow.”

“What.” The statement is meant to be a question, Hajime assumes, but nothing in Kageyama’s voice tells him that it is. On the other hand, the younger draws his eyebrows together even further.

Hajime wants to warn him that he’s going to get premature wrinkles, until he realizes how Oikawa-like the thought is. It’s something Oikawa used to say to him, word-for-word, something like nine years ago. He’s only heard Oikawa’s voice twice now, only seen him once, and already his thoughts are being invaded against his will.

“I said let’s go to dinner tomorrow.”

“Why.”

“Because I want to take you out to dinner. But only if you want to go.”

Kageyama presses his lips together, inhales deeply through his nose loud enough that Hajime can hear, and then says, “Yes, thank you,” in a single, forceful exhale.

 

✧

 

Even on weekends, Hajime doesn’t find himself sleeping too late. Even as a university student he would wake up no later than nine o’clock, after long nights out until two or three in the morning.  Now just the thought of staying out so late makes Hajime’s head hurt. How had he managed to do that weekend after weekend, two or three nights in a row, and still wake up bright and early on Sundays to go to the library?

Well, mostly caffeine. And something else to help him focus.

It’s really a miracle that anyone survives the hellish world that is university.

The sun is already up, of course, Hajime’s body doesn’t hate him that much, but still he opens the shades of the living room to let the natural light flood in, as he does every Saturday and Sunday morning, and then he shuffles past the divide between the living room and the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for himself.

As he’s waiting for the coffee to percolate his phone buzzes loudly against the coffee table in the living room, two texts in a row.  It’s early, he thinks, but he should check them anyway.

        **Matsukawa [9:07am]:** i know you’re already awake.

        **Mastukawa [9:07am]:** we need to discuss the surprise party.

Hajime groans. He had forgotten about Matsukawa’s ridiculous plan. Throwing a birthday party for Hanamaki in the middle of July when his birthday isn’t until January isn’t the most ridiculous thing his thick-eyebrowed friend has ever come up with though— Hajime had to bear the unfortunate brunt of Matsukawa’s plotting and bad jokes after Hanamaki left for the States— so Hajime relents.

        **Iwaizumi [9:10am]:** fine

        **Iwaizumi [9:10am]:** what about it?

Instead of texting back a reply, Matsukawa does the most annoying thing he could, and calls Hajime before he’s had breakfast. He doesn’t even wait for Hajime to say anything when he picks up, just launches into an explanation of what he wants to happen for the party.

“So, he’s flying in next Saturday. I’m going to pick him up and we’re going to bring him to the izakaya down the street from my apartment. I already covered the cost of the function room, but I expect you to do your part and pay me back half.”

“Why do I have to pay you, exactly?”

“Because _we’re_ throwing the party _together,_ Iwaizumi.”

“Fine, I’ll write you a check. Just text me how much I owe you next week and I’ll bring it with me.”

“Perfect. Also, the entire Aoba Johsai volleyball club from our third year is coming.”

“The entire club,” Iwaizumi says, keeping the edge in his voice as inaudible as possible.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa says, “well, except Kyoutani because, he’s a 1.1 and… well, you know how it is.”

“You didn’t invite him, you mean.”

“ _We_ didn’t invite him, Iwaizumi. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“I would have invited him,” Iwaizumi says.

The fact that Kyoutani has a rating of 1.1 stars is— well it _isn’t_ surprising. At all. It is disappointing though. Kyoutani was always a sort of problem child back when they were all at Aoba Johsai, but he wasn’t a bad kid. He was always respectful to Iwaizumi, at least. Except for the occasional off-hand comments that were more meant to piss off Oikawa.

Iwaizumi hears the door of his bedroom open and he says into the phone, “Hey, is it cool if I bring someone along?”

“You want to bring someone along? To our surprise party for Makki? Where all our old teammates will be.”

“Yeah.”

Matsukawa gasps into the phone. “Holy shit, Iwaizumi. Are you seeing someone? Why didn’t you tell me last week?”

“Trust me,” Hajime says, “it’s definitely not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

Hajime glances over to where Kageyama’s exited the bedroom. He’s not within sight, and Hajime doesn’t remember hearing the bathroom door close, but Kageyama isn’t exactly one to make his presence known. He could have been living in Hajime’s apartment for the last two years and Hajime wouldn’t have noticed him any sooner than exactly one week ago. Had Kageyama always been so quiet? Or did something happen to him after he turned eighteen?

“I ran into someone last week, after you left and, uh— well he’s kind of staying at my place now.”

Matsukawa lets out a sigh, loud enough for Hajime to hear over the phone. “One of these days taking in strays is going to cost you dearly.”

“I never expected to say this but you and Sawamura are horrifyingly in sync.”

Matsukawa laughs. “When you say you ran into _someone—_ please tell me it’s someone you know fairly well and not just some random stranger who will steal all your valuables and run?”

“Actually,” Hajime says, “it’s Kageyama.”

“Kage— Kageyama Tobio? The genius Karasuno setter?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says.

“Do you really know him all that well?”

“He was my kohai at Kitagawa Daiichi.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to offer him your actual apartment, Iwaizumi.”

“I know,” Hajime replies, “but I want to.”

Hajime is fully aware that he doesn’t have to do anything.  The only thing requiring him to be a decent human being is his own moral compass. It certainly isn’t something that will get him great ratings from high-fours, but Hajime doesn’t necessarily want or need that. He’s comfortable with his life a low-four. Even being a high-three isn’t so bad.  There are very few highly rated people that Hajime believes received all 5.0 stars through genuine interactions. None of the ones he’s met seem like _good_ people, anyway. Hajime doesn’t have the energy pretend to be something he’s not, to keep a performance face on all the time.

Maybe it makes sense why that world fit Oikawa so well that he abandoned Hajime—and Matsukawa and Hanamaki— nine years ago.

“Okay, well, we’ll talk later,” Matsukawa says, at length.

“Yeah, for sure.”

After they say goodbye and hang up, Hajime sees three missed texts on his phone.

        **Unknown Number [9:20am]:** Iwa-chan!

        **Unknown Number [9:20am]:** Does 12:30 work for you?

        **Unknown Number [9:21am]:** [Location attached].

Hajime sighs, editing the number in his phone, but he doesn’t respond to the texts.

 

✧

 

Taking Kageyama to dinner proves a difficult task, mainly due to the fact that all of the decent restaurants near Hajime’s apartment don’t accept patrons under 3.0, though some on the lower price range making the cut off 2.5.  Hajime spends three hours on the phone with multiple different establishments, before one place is willing to make an exception for them, since he’s over a 4.0. He doesn’t think he’s exhaled louder in his life than in relief in that moment.

It’s not a super nice place, which is fine, really. The last thing Hajime needs is for Kageyama to feel pressured into thinking he owes Hajime anymore than he already believes, and Hajime has no idea how to fix that to begin with. _Giving more_ certainly isn’t the right answer, but Hajime’s doing this for himself, too.

As much as he loved his boring adult life, it ended abruptly with a wedding invitation, a phone call from a team manager, and a fateful trip to the corner store. Only one of those three things matters at the moment.

Kageyama’s shoes squeak against the wood floor of the small family restaurant. He insisted on wearing his own clothes, as ragged as they are, and he sticks out like a sore thumb. The stares from the other patrons who must see _Kageyama 2.2_ as he walks past them, the waitress ahead of them showing them to a table, don’t seem to carry any weight to him. Hajime is generally impressed by the lack of care that Kageyama seems to have about the others around them, though it pains him to wonder whether that’s inherent or something learned, a callus from years of repeated wounds.

Hajime feels like he’s being exposed to the world, as couples, families, and groups of businessmen whisper to each other as he and Kageyama walk past.  He knows what it looks like. But he reminds himself that he doesn’t owe them and explanation or an apology, and if he feels embarrassed it will likely only make Kageyama uncomfortable, which is the opposite of what Hajime has been trying to do.

The decorations in the restaurant are an assaulting clash of different colors and statues that show no semblance of a theme, impossible to avoid no matter where he looks, so Hajime has to choose to either look at the table or directly at Kageyama. Kageyama studies the menu carefully, eyebrows drawn together again, and he mutters softly to himself while he reads. Hajime has a brief moment of panic, wondering whether Kageyama can read, but he shakes his head upon realizing that that’s a ridiculous idea.

Kageyama almost graduated from Karasuno seven years ago, after all.

Hajime settles for reading over the menu as well and he doesn’t try to start any kind of conversation until they’ve already ordered their food.

“So,” he says, after the waitress walks away, “are you feeling okay lately? I know, you obviously don’t feel super comfortable in my apartment—”

“Your apartment is fine, Iwaizumi-san” Kageyama assures him.

He lets the honorific slide for now. “Okay. And you know that this isn’t me trying to pressure you into something you don’t want?” Hajime says, “You’re allowed to say no to me, I _want_ you to say no to me if that’s what you want.”

Kageyama shakes his head. “I don’t want to say no.”

“Okay,” Hajime says, “good.”

There’s a moment of silence between them, and Hajime isn’t sure how exactly to ask the questions that he wants answers to. He thinks he probably doesn’t have the right. Many of them are personal, and when Hajime had asked about something as simple as Kageyama’s job last week he had got up and walked away without an attempt at answering.

“If you want,” Hajime says, “I can help you find a job, we can look next weekend.”

Kageyama’s face scrunches up again, like he’s working on some unsolvable mathematics problem, and he looks away from Hajime’s face, eyes slanting towards the floor.  “Why are you doing all this.”

Another question-not-question.

“Is it really so difficult to believe I want to help you?”

“Not just you. Anyone.”

The waitress arrives at the table again, a plate balanced on each palm. Hajime’s saved from having to say something to Kageyama regarding that. _Not just you. Anyone._ Hajime already knew that, that most people don’t care, not really. Knowing something, and hearing it said aloud are two different things, though. A lesson that Hajime has learned all too often in the past nine years.

They eat mostly in silence, with Kageyama visibly restraining himself from using his hands to devour all of the food on his plate. Hajime’s cooking does not compare to a professional chef.

After they’ve eaten and paid, Hajime rates the waitress five stars and she returns to the favor to both of them more out of politeness than anything, but Hajime thanks her anyway and nudges Kageyama with his elbow to get him to thank her as well.

They exit the restaurant and Hajime isn’t entirely sure how to proceed. If this were a date, he would hold Kageyama’s hand and then kiss him at the door, but they’re both going to the same door and he’s not entirely sure _what_ tonight was even though he’s the one that started it in the first place. It’s all so complicated.

“When we get home,” Hajime decides, “we should watch some shitty god-awful movie and eat all the ice cream from my freezer.”

“Why would we watch something shitty?” Kageyama asks.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Because it’s fun. You can’t just lock yourself in my bedroom and sulk every night. I mean, if you want to do that you can, _but_ I think my idea is a lot better.”

“Okay,” Kageyama says.

Hajime sighs. “Please, don’t just agree because you think I want you to.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

 

✧

 

Hajime doesn’t know why he thought this was a good idea. The movie they’re watching is so awful that it should be hilarious, but neither of them were nearly drunk enough to appreciate it, so now he’s down a half fifth of sake.  The alcohol has even managed to loosen up Kageyama who has been laughing almost non-stop for at least the last ten minutes.

Hajime hasn’t done something like this in so long, he nearly had forgotten what the word fun meant. He has a feeling if he ever tells Sawamura about this he’ll have to take a lot of shit, and he’d have to take twice the amount in a variety of different words from Matsukawa. In his head he knows this but, it doesn’t matter.

Right now, as he looks at Kageyama, cheeks flushed red from alcohol or laughing or both, all Hajime wants to do is kiss him. So he leans forward.

His mind registers that Kageyama’s lips are chapped, that he tastes like a combination of sake and mochi that would be highly unappealing were Hajime sober, that he smells like Hajime’s own shampoo and laundry detergent.  Hajime lets one of his hands feel through Kageyama’s silky hair, the other hand looping around his waist, snaking underneath the hem of Kageyama’s tee-shirt until fingertips brush against bare skin.

Kageyama lets Hajime press against him, or maybe it’s the other way around it’s too tough to tell through the buzz, and then pull him forward as Hajime lets his back hit the couch. Kageyama shifts, thighs straddling Hajime, forcing Hajime to bend his torso upwards to kiss him.

Hajime finds himself still craving more, wanting more. He thinks that maybe they should slow down, that they should stop, when he realizes he’s already beyond aroused and he decides somehow that it doesn’t matter, nothing that’s been stopping him actually matters. Not really.

He doesn’t really know which of them tugs the hem of Kageyama’s tee-shirt over his head, but then it’s gone, lost to the living room floor somewhere. Kageyama is skinny, the shape of his ribs visible underneath his pale skin, there’s barely any evidence that he ever was a star volleyball player in high school left. Hajime holds him tight and kisses down his shoulders, over his collarbone, hands running everywhere everywhere everywhere until the friction is too much.

Hanging against one another and hands pressing against a wall every few steps they find their way to the bedroom.

It’s been so long since Hajime’s done this. And before, and every step along the way, he finds himself asking once, twice, three times, _Is this okay, is this okay, is this okay_. And he notices the glistening at the corners of Kageyama’s wide blue blue eyes as he cups his face and calls him beautiful and then kisses him again.

It isn’t until later, after he falls asleep and wakes up before the sun this time, that Hajime fully realizes what they’ve done; _what he’s done._ The rise and fall of Kageyama’s shoulder blades with his even breath against Hajime’s torso, skin-to-skin.

He silently asks why he feels so guilty, but he doesn’t think the dim light from the streetlamps, creeping in through the window, will answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning:** there is some sexual content in this chapter that happens under the influence of alcohol, if you don't want to read that just stop reading at the scene that starts with: _Hajime doesn’t know why he thought this was a good idea._  
>  It's the last scene in the chap so you can just close the tab or whatever once you get there.
> 
> * * *
> 
> we're ramping up to more iwaoi interactions from this point forward. sorry if all of the last few chapters seem a little exposition-y, but i promise oikawa is going to re-enter the main stage soon. 
> 
> as always, thanks to karinne ([armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks/pseuds/armyofskanks)) for reading this over! go read her semishira stuff if you love and support rare pairs.


	5. IV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Everyone is constantly _clawing,_ and climbing, and kicking other people’s ankles to get them to fall, because no one wants to be average.

Hajime wakes again after the sun.

Kageyama still sleeps, snoring lightly, breath against Hajime’s shoulder.

After carefully removing his arm from underneath Kageyama— miraculously not waking the younger man— Hajime peels back the sheets and gets out of bed. He twists the doorknob as he closes the door behind him, if only to be extra sure not to wake the younger male, though Hajime suspects it would take a lot more than the sound of a door clicking shut to wake Kageyama.

There are a few things he can do in the aftermath of all of this.

First, he could ignore it. The option of saying nothing— feigning business-as-usual— tempts him, and if Hajime were a lesser man he’d give in to that temptation, but he knows he shouldn’t.

In fact, as tempting as it is, he knows he won’t simply ignore what happened.

He’s not that guy.

He _could_ attempt to talk to Kageyama about it and say it can’t happen again, but Hajime  has a feeling that conversation will go about as well as the one they had after Kageyama kissed him all those nights ago.

That is: Kageyama will think Hajime is rejecting him, until it definitely does happen again.

And he’s not _rejecting_ Kageyama; that’s not what this is.  He just needs time to process all this shit by himself.

Still, Hajime feels _guilty,_ despite the fact that Kageyama is as much of an adult as he is. Or at least, Kageyama’s as much of an adult as Hajime was at the age of twenty-five. And at twenty-five, he was graduating with his masters and starting a business with Sawamura Daichi and signing a lease for a shitty Tokyo apartment.

They’re both adults, and, yeah, they were tipsy, but neither of them were so drunk that they didn’t know what they were doing.

And, really, if Hajime’s being honest with himself, he mostly feels guilty for _not_ feeling guilty. His gut feeling is far from regret, even if logically he _knows_ there might be some abuse-of-power shit happening.

He doesn’t know what to do.

So instead of doing anything, he goes to the gym to distract himself.

Hajime thinks anyone who enjoys running is a masochist. He hated running laps in high school, he hated getting on the treadmill in college, and he _hates_ running still.  At best, it’s a necessary evil.

He will admit though, mindlessly stepping and pushing oneself to keep going is a great opportunity to clear the mind.

The gym is a short train ride from his apartment.

He shouldn’t be all too surprised when he gets there and sees Sawamura, also apparently spending his weekend morning at the gym. Maybe physical therapy as a profession doesn’t allow them the constant workouts that sports players get, but if they want to be taken seriously by clients they really need to take care of their own bodies first and foremost.

“Iwaizumi,” Sawamura says, “I didn’t know you knew where the gym was.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “You’re the fool who comes to the gym _in the morning_. That’s not my fault.”

“Well. It’s morning. And here you are.”

Hajime isn’t sure what to say to that, besides, _Well I couldn’t stay home_ , so instead he says nothing.

In grad school, he and Sawamura were the definition of gym buddies, and in some ways even gym rivals. Hajime used to be able to outdo Sawamura on nearly every upper-body workout, but he’s never seen anyone come close to outdoing Sawamura in squats or deadlifts.

This is different. They’re both too used to going through the motions of working out on their own so most of the time there is spent doing their own thing, but Hajime does find his eyes wandering to his business partner thinking thinks such as: _I could easily beat him by 50 pounds_ , or _I wonder if I could even come close to that._

An hour— and about two gallons of sweat— later, before they part ways outside the building, Sawamura looks at Hajime for a moment and squints his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Hajime asks.

“If you were seeing someone, you would tell me, right?”

And _oh fuck_ , how could Sawamura possibly know that Hajime slept with Kageyama last night? There’s nothing about him that’s making it obvious in any way, right? Why else would he ask the question, though?

“Yeah,” Hajime says, trying to feign a calm demeanor, “of course I’d tell you.”

Sawamura nods.  “Good because Yui has been pestering me about whether you’re bringing a plus one or not, and I said I didn’t think so, and she said, _‘You don’t know if one of your closest friends is bringing a plus one to our wedding?’_ , and then it became this whole thing, so I just had to be sure.”

Hajime breathes out. That makes sense.  “Well,” he says, “I’m not.”

“She’s going to try to make you dance with one of the bridesmaids.”

Hajime shrugs. “That’s fine.”

Sawamura squints.

“It’s only dancing,” Hajime says, “it’s not like Yui’s friend is going to fall in love with me and then I have to break her heart by telling her I’m gay. It’s fine.”

“Right,” Sawamura says, “sorry I just— I really need this wedding to go as smoothly as possible.”

“I never expected Yui to be a bridezilla,” Hajime says.

Sawamura shakes his head. “She’s not, at least not compared to what I saw Tanaka go through with his first wife last year.”  Under his breath he says, “No wonder they only lasted six months.”

“Six months?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Hajime shakes his head. He doesn’t remember hearing about any of that.

“Oh. Well, yeah. They called it quits after six months. I’m not really sure why; I’d imagine Asahi may know through Noya or something, but aftward, she turned everyone against him. His rating still hasn’t recovered.”

“Shit,” Hajime says.

He thinks unfair ratings are something everyone beneath the high fours can empathize with.

“Anyways,” Sawamura says, “I gotta run. I promised Yui I’d only be gone two hours and it’s been—” he glances at the time on his phone “— _crap_. Okay, see you, Iwaizumi.”

“Later,” Hajime says, before heading off in his own direction.

The train ride home is uncomfortable, as it always is post-gym, since Hajime refuses to fully shower at the gym. His apartment may have shit plumbing, but at least he’s got a near 50% chance at warm water. He’s pretty sure they cool the water in the gym bathrooms with liquid nitrogen.

Back in his apartment, after taking a very quick shower, Hajime peeks into his bedroom and sees Kageyama still snoring soundly.  If he hadn’t grown up knowing Oikawa, he never would never have guessed a person could sleep that much. He laughs to himself as he shuts the door behind him, knowing Oikawa would hate the comparison.

As if that shitty bastard can read his mind, despite the lack of proximity and all the time apart, he receives a text.

        **Don’t Answer [10:32am]:** Iwa-chan!! You blew me off yesterday (◣_◢)

Hajime pretends that Oikawa was definitely not planning on sending that text at exactly 10:30 but then spent an extra two minutes reading it over and editing it before hitting send. That makes it easier to ignore how his heart nearly breaks out of his ribcage at the sight of his contact.

Despite the warning he programmed into his phone yesterday, he finds himself replying.

        **Iwaizumi [10:33am]:** technically i didn’t actually agree to anything

        **Iwaizumi [10:34am]:** i just said i’d think about it

        **Don’t Answer [10:35am]:** Just please show up today?

        **Don’t Answer [10:35am]:** Same time, same place as we agreed on yesterday.

Hajime starts to type out once more that he didn’t agree on anything, but he does feel kind of guilty for blowing off Oikawa.  While he technically only said he’d think about it, even he knows that that’s a shitty excuse for flaking. He should have just been firmer in his refusal.

Even if it’s Oikawa Tooru he’s talking about. _Flaking_ doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, compared to what happened when they were eighteen.

He sighs at himself. What he’s about to do is likely something he’ll end up deeply regretting. But he owes it to Oikawa at least, for his own being an asshole.

Then they’ll be even.

       **Iwaizumi [10:39am]:**  okay. i’ll be there.

 

✧

 

The restaurant reeks of money and stars and ratings.

 _Oikawa 4.9_ sits alone at a table of a 4.0+ only restaurant. He wears a faded blue button-up shirt, white pants, and boat shoes. He has on expensive sunglasses, white frames except for the silver bridge.

Hajime _knows_ they’re expensive because it’s _Oikawa 4.9,_ so there’s no way they aren’t.

He wonders briefly whether Oikawa paid for them, or if they were sent as a gift from the brand. He doesn’t often look at Oikawa’s posts on his timeline, but from what information he’s aware of, plenty of brands send the athlete free stuff. In exchange, all he has to do is post a selfie.

That’s what Matsukawa said years ago, anyway.

As a low-four, Hajime is definitely on the lower end of the patronage of the restaurant. Most of the surrounding couples and groups of friends average a 4.5 rating collectively. The realization makes him slightly self-conscious. His dress is certainly barely up to par, though the shades aren’t right; he wears denim blue and bold red, while the others paint the restaurant in pastels, whites, and light beiges.

Oikawa anxiously fingers a straw between two fingers. He doesn’t look up when Hajime approaches the able until he clears his throat as he takes the seat across from _Oikawa 4.9_.

When he does, his eyes brighten. “ _Iwa-chan_!”

“You’re up to 4.2!” Oikawa exclaims.

“Huh?” Hajime asks.

He hadn’t realized. It must have been the waitress from the restaurant last night giving both he and Kageyama five stars. He doesn’t often check his own rating in the mirror, that’s how slowly it changes.

Back when reached a 4.0 for the first time, back in undergrad, he hadn’t noticed until someone else had pointed it out to him.

But dinner changed his rating. Dinner with _Kageyama 2.2_.  Dinner seems like sixteen years ago instead of sixteen hours ago.

Hajime wonders whether he’ll walk out of here without dropping back down to a 4.1.

“Before you know it you’ll be nearing me,” Oikawa says.

“I don’t think so.”

Translation: _I hope not._

Hajime has no desire to be a part of that world. He’s always thought of it as _Oikawa’s world_ , since his own best friend shut him out in favor of a pretty 4.5 female athlete and a better lunch table.

The restaurant is noisy. The food on all the plates of the people who got here before them is picture-perfect. Desserts with perfectly fluffy frosting and moist bread, and food that looks like it’s come straight out of the pictures from a cookbook, marked up 200% for profit on the shelf of an indie bookstore.

He wonders how many star-hungry mid-fours come here just to have a reason to post something on the timeline, something that they think will help to bump them over the edge to the elusive world of the high-fours.

People keep staring at he and Oikawa, despite the fact that technically they’re both fours too. High-fours don’t hang out with other people who aren’t also high-fours. Usually, anyway.

Fours also don’t usually hang out with _twos_ , so this seems to just be the week that everything regarding the ratings are trying to fuck with Hajime’s brain.

Oikawa hasn’t said anything in a few minutes, and the lull in their conversation settles heavily. Oikawa has tried to pry his way back into Hajime’s life, and now Hajime has _willingly agreed_ to see him, and he’s sitting there not even really looking at Hajime, instead inspecting the glass his iced, strawberry-colored drink is in.

His eyes are so close to the condensation that he might be counting each of the tiny bubbles, and Hajime _has_ to ask,“What the hell are you doing?”

“I thought I saw a small bug fly into my drink,” Oikawa explains, his forehead wrinkling together as he narrows his eyes, inspecting the liquid through the glass.  

Hajime laughs at Oikawa, and just like that, he’s seventeen-going-on-eighteen again. Just like that, they’re getting ready for their last Spring High, the one where Karasuno beats them, and he’s laughing with Hanamaki and Matsukawa about some stupid thing their captain did in class the other day, while said captain whines that Hajime is too mean to him.

Hajime thought back then maybe he wasn’t mean enough.

Now he’s not so sure.

The nostalgia intoxicates him. He wants to drown in it. Instead of saying anything, though, Hajime busies himself with the menu.

There are far more options at this restaurant than the one he was at just last night. All of them expensive. All of them ridiculously named to fit the theme of the restaurant. All of them western.

It’s Sunday _brunch_.  One of the best occasions in the States, according to a description of the back of the menu.  It claims that posts from brunch on the timeline consistently have high ratings, almost exclusively four and five stars.

A waitress shows up at the table. She smiles at Hajime. “Would you like anything else to drink?” 

Hajime says no, water is fine.

Her Japanese is accented heavily and she looks half-white. Hajime assumes she’s American by the way she speaks. Her accent is reminiscent of a girl he was friends with during his second year of college who spent two semesters in Japan to study robotics before returning to the other side of the pacific ocean.

Oikawa starts in on the different types of breakfast foods they offer here, pointing at them on the menu. He says all of it like it’s interesting information, and Hajime pretends to be interested because he wants to be civil.

He forgot how easily amused Oikawa always was by simple things that other people might overlook. Oikawa occasionally sticks his tongue out when he gets to a dish that he doesn’t particularly love, and Hajime laughs despite himself.

He remembers, now, that he used to find all of that endearing.

He tries to forget again.

The truth is, he does feel bad for being so reluctant to just meet up with the guy. He’s not sure whether it’s that he recognizes the grudge might be unfair, nine years after the fact, or if he’s trying to prove to himself that a broken heart can, in fact, heal—

Or if it’s some weird blend of guilt that’s been built up and lumped with all the shit he’s feeling bad about vis a vis Kageyama Tobio.

 _Kageyama 2.2,_ a name that Hajime very deliberately does _not_ mention when Oikawa asks, “So what’s Iwa-chan been up to?”

“You don’t have to refer to me in the third person,” Hajime says.

Oikawa ignores that comment. “So you and Sawamura-kun are business partners?”

He obviously knows the answer to that question so Hajime doesn’t answer that one either, instead saying, “I don’t think he’d appreciate you calling him Sawamura- _kun_.”

“Are you going to his wedding? I know Kuroo-chan and Bokuto are.”

The mention of _wedding_ from _Oikawa_ is not something Hajime wanted today, but he supposes it was probably unavoidable. So he says, “Uh, yeah. He asked me to be a groomsman.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says with a plasticy smile, “that’s good.”

Hajime thinks it really _isn’t_ good, not in Oikawa’s point of view.

It may have been nine years, but Hajime spent eighteen years reading each and every one of Oikawa’s false faces. The one he’s putting on now was once reserved for dealing with situations and people Oikawa disliked. Such as Kageyama Tobio. For example.

“Yeah,” Hajime says. He’s no longer Oikawa’s keeper. “It should be fun.”

Oikawa squirms in his seat, and Hajime can tell he wants to say something but he’s holding back.

The waitress comes back, and they each order, and the whole time, Hajime manages to allow Oikawa to make small talk, like this is a casual meeting between old friends. Oikawa asks about Hanamaki, how he’s doing across the Pacific, and Hajime asks him what Kuroo and Bokuto are like at practice— neither answer surprises him— and how Kudo is doing.

It isn’t until they’re finished eating and after the waitress comes back with Oikawa’s card— because he sweet-talked the waitress into taking his card over Hajime’s— that Hajime decides he needs to know what Oikawa’s been squirming around about in his seat all afternoon. Whatever he’s been holding back, it’s his last chance to say it.

Hajime isn’t going through the motions of this again just to keep guessing.  

And he’s sure Oikawa would keep him guessing if he thought it would keep Hajime coming to _brunch_ with him.

“What is it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Oikawa asks, and he’s _pretending_ not to know what Hajime’s referring to, like he thinks Hajime can no longer read him like a open book.

“You obviously want to say something,” Hajime says, “Why did you really want to get lunch with me?”

Oikawa frowns, sips his drink through a wide straw, and then places the glass on a coaster atop the table. “Well,” Oikawa says, “speaking of _weddings_ —”

He says it like it isn’t obvious why he brought up Sawamura’s wedding earlier that afternoon, and like that was the last topic of conversation and not something they talked about over a half hour ago. It’s a transition lacking the smoothness that Oikawa used to always possess.

Or _almost_ always. Oikawa never was very good at hiding when something was upsetting him from Hajime.  

“—you still haven’t RSVP'd to mine.”

“I haven’t,” Hajime states.

“Why not?” Oikawa asks.

“Because I still haven’t decided.”  

 _Lies, lies, lies._  He has decided; he decided the second he got the invitation. He’s _not_ going to the wedding of Oikawa Tooru and Kudo Akane.

The fact that he’s been invited feels more like he’s being mocked than anything else. A cruel joke.

 _Remember the love of your young and stupid life? Remember how he abandoned your friendship for a girl he barely knew? Do you remember that, Hajime? Well, guess what. They’re now getting_ married, _and they want_ you _to be there!_

Ha ha ha.

So why didn’t he just RSVP and check off the box next to _Decline to attend,_ the second it showed up in his mailbox?

“Oh,” Oikawa says, and he doesn’t look at Hajime.

Hajime exhales, heavily, like he’s breathing lead instead of oxygen, and asks, “Why did you even invite me?”

Oikawa chews on his bottom lip and still avoids Hajime’s gaze. It’s easy because they’re sitting in a window seat with a view of the Tokyo skyline. In the mid-afternoon, the bright blue of the sky backlights the shadows of the tops of the buildings.

This is what it feels like to be a high-four: to be on top of the world, to be able to look down on the people and see ants— mid-threes and below— going about their days where they have to do actual _work_ for a living, to take pictures of a goddamn meal for five-star ratings because _clawing_ one’s way to a 4.0 isn’t enough.

Everyone is constantly _clawing,_ and climbing, and kicking other people’s ankles to get them to fall, because no one wants to be average. Everyone wants to be on top of the world. After all, the view is fucking gorgeous.

All of that shit, and no one in the restaurant even looks happy.

Not even _Oikawa 4.9_.

Not even _Oikawa 4.9_ who has every reason in the world to be happy.

He’s on the national volleyball team. He could eat at restaurants like this every day if he wanted to. He’s marrying his high school sweetheart, _Kudo 4.7_ , and everyone is so obsessed with them that there’s been tabloids on the couple blowing up across Japan on everyone’s timeline.

_Oikawa Tooru, setter for the national volleyball team, to marry Kudo Akane, high school sweetheart._

Funny, Hajime thinks, how none of the headlines denoted her accomplishments. Oikawa’s accomplishments give him a nauseous feeling in his stomach, but whenever the softball team that Kudo plays for does well and Hajime happens to see a mention on the sports news section of the timeline, he does feel oddly happy for her.

Sure, Oikawa had ditched his friends for her. But from what Hajime had seen in high school, she had never forced him to do that. That was all Oikawa.

When the couple first got engaged about a year ago, Hajime found out about it through an _ad_ for a tabloid on the sports news section when he was looking for the score of a baseball game that he had bet against Matsukawa on.

He’d nearly tripped over a baby carriage that a young mother was pushing at the sight of it, which ended up in him getting a 2-star rating from her despite his profuse apologies.

 _Oikawa 4.9_ sits across from Hajime— in a restaurant that Hajime probably shouldn’t even be at since he can’t afford to eat here _and_ stick with his monthly budget for retirement savings— and he looks anything _but happy._

Hajime wonders what the tabloids would say about that. But the answer is obvious: _nothing_ . Because Oikawa would never let them see him like this. Hajime’s surprised that Oikawa’s letting _him_ see this.

It’s too real.

_Why did you even invite me?_

He looks at Hajime, after what’s been minutes and minutes of waiting, and he says, “Because I miss my best friend.”

Hajime doesn’t know what to says besides, “I’m not your best friend. I haven’t been for nine years.”

Oikawa’s lips turn up in an attempt at a smile, but his eyes are glistening like he might cry— and Hajime knows that he would, were they nine years younger— and he says, “No one has ever compared. In nine years I haven’t found a single person who compares to you.”

Hajime says, “You’re getting married.”

Oikawa looks away.

And if Hajime stays, he’ll end up saying something cruel.

Something like _You chose this,_ or _You chose her_ . And despite how angry he is at Oikawa for waiting _nine years_ to do this when he should have done it days after their fight— or weeks, or even months— Hajime doesn’t actually want to hurt him. Not the way that he hurt Hajime.

So he says, “I should go.”

He stands up, and this time Oikawa doesn’t ask him to stay.

Outside the restaurant, as he walks towards the subway line that will stop near his apartment building, Hajime notices a few notifications he’s missed on his phone. Two are from Matsukawa.

        **Matsukawa [1:15pm]:**?????

 **Matsukawa [1:15pm]:** [Image attached]

They’re from a half-hour ago, and when Hajime opens the image, he sees that it’s a screenshot of the timeline. Above a post from _Hanamaki 4.0_ that’s been cut off, is a picture posted by _Oikawa 4.9_.

It’s a picture of Hajime that Oikawa snuck when he wasn’t looking. He’s sipping on his water and glancing out the window, and Oikawa captioned it, “ _Iwa-chan’s still handsome after all these years…_ ”

Hajime wants to throw up.

He quickly hits the call button and waits to hear the words, ‘ _Iwaizumi, hey,_ ’ in Matsukawa’s voice on the other end before he says, grumbling, trying to sound annoyed and not upset, “I didn’t know he took that picture. Much less posted it.”

“I didn’t know you were on speaking terms with him,” Matsukawa counters.

Hajime frowns, even though his friend can’t see it. “I’m not.”

“And yet you got lunch with him at one of Tokyo’s fanciest spots.”

“I felt bad,” Hajime says, “for not giving him an opportunity to say whatever it was he was planning on saying the other day.”

“What happened to not letting him back into your personal life?”

Hajime doesn’t say what he’s thinking. What he’s thinking is, that plan was a lot easier said than done.

Oikawa Tooru, _Oikawa 4.9_ , doesn’t take no for an answer. He doesn’t say that he spent so much of his life not even considering saying no to Oikawa that even now, still, it feels unnatural. That nine years later, he still feels this pull to let Oikawa back into his life.

And so he gave in, and he went to lunch.

And that he _knows_ he shouldn’t have seen Oikawa— but actually he doesn’t really _know,_ and he’s not sure whether he is fighting with his brain or his brain is fighting with him.  

But, _today._ Today Oikawa didn’t ask him to stay. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hajime says, “I don’t think he’s going to bother me anymore.”

Silence remains on the line and Hajime knows Matsukawa is debating whether to ask him to elaborate. He doesn’t, in the end.

“Right, well, I have to go into work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Something keeps crashing for our client and I need to look at the code. Fucking web developers.”

Hajime still doesn’t understand the difference between web developers and app developers, but apparently there’s some important difference, by the way Matsukawa talks.

Hajime just says, “Okay, well, I’ll see you next weekend.”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa says, “that you will.”

And the line beeps off.

 

✧

 

It’s evening. No one opened the curtains today; Hajime can’t see inside the apartment from the sidewalk. He’s tried to make drawing them less of a habit than before he was harboring _Kageyama 2.2;_ people are nosy by nature, and while Hajime has not questioned his own stance on helping Kageyama out by letting him stay in his apartment, he knows that other people certainly will.

Matsukawa and Sawamura both already have done just that, and Hajime considers both of them his closest friends. The last thing he or Kageyama needs is an nosy retired lady getting the wrong idea and giving them both matching 1-star ratings.

He will not make things worse for Kageyama, the kid has obviously been through enough in his life, even if he refuses to talk with Hajime about any of it.

Earlier, when he was on the phone with Matsukawa, Hajime was close to telling him that he and Kageyama slept together.

He wants to talk with someone besides himself, someone with an impartial opinion who can tell him whether he’s being too hard on himself or if he really should set a clear physical boundary, but there’s no way that Matsukawa won’t have too much to say on the matter.

He can’t go to Sawamura either, because he doesn’t really know anything about the extent of history that Kageyama and Sawamura have from Karasuno.

Kageyama is obviously feeling antsy about the situation himself, because he’s pacing over the carpet in circles when Hajime steps inside his home.

A mix of artificial light and shadows flood the room because he still hasn’t replaced that goddamn lightbulb.

Hajime’s avoided the apartment for most of the day, only came home after so many hours biding time ‘running errands’ that he couldn’t stand it anymore and decided it was time to face Kageyama, time to face what happened between them last night.

“Is it weird?" 

Hajime looks up at Kageyama when he asks the question. “Is what weird?”

Kageyama narrows his eyes. “Is it weird? Me staying here, after—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Do you feel weird about it?” Hajime asks, because he doesn't want Kageyama to feel uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to go on pretending there isn’t anything that needs discussing.

He’s never been the type to just sleep around and go with the flow. And he’s almost _thirty_ , so he doesn’t see that part of him changing anytime soon. 

Communication is key. 

Ironic that he was just with the one person he never seems to remember that around, and was unable to learn it around. _Communication_ , he thinks, as if he and Oikawa ever needed so many words to communicate prior to their eighteenth birthdays.

That’s probably why things are unfixable. In the end, they needed words they didn’t have.

Now is not the time to think about his past with Oikawa, though.

It’s over. In a way that feels more final than it did when he walked out of Oikawa’s bedroom almost nine years ago.

Right in front of him is a stressed out Kageyama whose pupils are wide— from anxiety Hajime thinks— and whose hair is messy, likely from pulling his hands through it the whole time Hajime was gone.  A pit forms in stomach at the sight of him.

If Hajime thought he knew guilt before this moment, he was wrong.  

He wants nothing more than to comfort Kageyama, to touch him, to push his hair down from standing on-ending with his own fingers, to hold him and tell him that everything will be okay, they’ll figure it out _together._  But a very vocal, very convincing voice in his head tells him not to, regardless of how he feels.

Kageyama still has not answered the posed question, so Hajime sighs and walks around him, taking a seat in the living room. He motions for Kageyama to sit with him. 

Kageyama does join, but he’s careful not to sit too close to Hajime, sitting closer to the arm of the sofa.

Hajime starts, “If you think that this is weird, and you’re uncomfortable, then I can help you figure something else out.”  Hajime pauses. Finally he says, “But, I do want you to know you’re still welcome to stay here for as long as you need, okay?”

Kageyama shifts. “But is it weird?” 

“For me?” Hajime asks.

Kageyama nods. “You weren’t here the whole day. You obviously don’t want—”  He cuts off again.

Hajime shifts marginally closer. 

“Hey,” he says as he twists his torso and brings his hand to touch Kageyama’s softly. “That’s not at all what I was trying to make you think. I’m sorry. I just— I needed to process away from here.  But I don’t want you to think that it’s because of you. 

Kageyama doesn’t look convinced. “You regret fucking me,” he says, plainly 

“No,” Hajime says.

Because that’s one thing he’s sure of.

He’s so fucked up.

All this time he thought he was doing the adult thing right, focusing on his career, putting money into savings, paying all his bills and student payments on time. He’s twenty-seven and has no credit card debt.  

And he figured that when the right guy came along he’d know and everything would work out perfectly.  They’d date for a few months, move in together, maybe eventually get engaged and then married if Japan ever legalized that, and— shit— grow old together and one day retire and move to the coast or back to Miyagi to live out the end of their lives.

But instead, he’s meeting for _brunch_ with his teenage unrequited love and ex-best friend _who is engaged_ , and fucking his former kohai from twelve years ago who is a 2.2 and who he is _supposed to be helping,_ all the while remaining dateless to his business partner and best friend’s wedding.

And he feels guilty, but not for any reasons that he _should_ , and he doesn’t want to think about it.

Hajime’s sick of thinking about it.

He kisses Kageyama, then pulls away and says, “I don’t regret this.”

And then he kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is self-beta'd since i want karinne to study for the bar and kill it on that two-day hell test. (i know you're reading this, you dumb bitch. go study and make me proud.) 
> 
> if you notice any typos, grammatical errors, or have any concrit, questions, etc. for this chapter or anything in the fic so far, feel free to lmk in a comment and/or tumblr ask and/or twitter DM, and/or honestly just @ me anywhere and roast me i'll respect you for that shit.


	6. V.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “I wasn’t sure whether I’d run into you here,” Oikawa continues, flippantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or: the chapter where eye contact is nonexistent 
> 
> also in the running for chapter with the single most em-dashes in one paragraph

“One of my old teammates is coming back to Japan for a couple weeks,” Hajime tells Kageyama. “Matsukawa insisted we throw him a party, so that’s happening tonight. You’re invited. If you want to come, that is.”

The coffee table in the living room isn’t exactly made for two people to eat lunch at, but they’ve managed to make it work. They each sit with their legs crossed beneath the cracked wood of the table, knees touching. Hajime’s filled both their plates with vegetables, which he’s slowly worked his way up to doing after increasing concern that Kageyama hadn’t been getting enough minerals in his diet began to worry him.

Kageyama aggressively chews his food; table manners clearly aren’t his strong suit. Hajime isn’t sure whether that’s a function of his personality or his upbringing. Maybe it’s both. Kageyama’s coming into his life again, like this, has forced Hajime to face some uncomfortable realizations about himself.  Mostly that he’s found himself recognizing certain biases he didn’t even realized he carried about people with less than impressive ratings.

He wonders what happened to Kageyama back in Miyagi, back at Karasuno. He hasn’t exactly found the right time to bring up that conversation. And since they’ve been sharing a bed for almost a week, there are other more pressing topics Hajime should probably bring up first. Maybe he shouldn’t try to bring up Kageyama’s past at all.

After all, people don’t always react well to their pasts being shoved in their faces.

Hajime holds back a sigh at the thought of his own past, insistent on coming back to haunt him.

Kageyama swallows a mouthful of broccoli. “Old teammate?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hajime says, after swallowing the food in his mouth. “From Seijoh.”

“Who is it?”

“Hanamaki Takahiro.”

Kageyama chews on his own lip so harshly that Hajime worries he’ll draw blood with his teeth.

“Matsukawa said that the whole team from our third year will be there except for one person,” Hajime says, “more likely two,” because if Matsukawa had invited Oikawa he would have at least warned Hajime about that detail specifically. Unless Matsukawa’s keen on being mutilated.

Kageyama’s blue eyes cut sideways and he pouts.

“What is it?”

Kageyama shakes his head. “I can’t go.”

Hajime sighs, puts his chopsticks down. “Look, I don’t know what your history is with Kunimi and Kindaichi exactly, since I was two years ahead of you in middle school. But we’re all adults now, right?”

“Why do you want me to go?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re ashamed of me—” Kageyama says, and Hajime isn’t sure whether it’s a hint of anger or sadness in his voice.  He continues, “—because of my rating. But you’re inviting me to a party with all your old teammates. I don’t understand.”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Hajime replies.

Kageyama gives him a flat look.

“Look,” Hajime says. He runs a hand through his short hair, then leans backward, placing his palms on the ground behind him. “I know that stars matter to a lot of people for a lot of reasons. But I don’t care how many stars you have.”

They’ve been over this before of course, but it seems no matter how many times Hajime says it, he won’t make Kageyama believe it. Hajime wonders if he’d be able to trust so easily, were their roles reversed.

“You do care.”

“I just told you I don’t—”

“You close the blinds.”

Hajime flinches at the accusation. _You close the blinds._ It’s a simple accusation, and one with heavy truth. He closes the blinds. He closes the blinds and the neighbors don’t see that _Kageyama 2.2_ is in _Iwaizumi 4.2_ ’s apartment.

“I close the blinds.”

He sighs, stands up from his spot at the coffee table, and walks over to the windows. He opens the curtains, twists the blinds open, and then turns to face Kageyama. Light, free now to enter the apartment, brightens the living room, making the ceiling light fixture (that Hajime _still_ has not fixed) obsolete.

“Not anymore,” he says, “no more closing the blinds.”

Kageyama looks surprised for a split second before his face changes to something indignant. Hajime walks over to him, and sits down next to him on the floor, facing him. Kageyama doesn’t look over.

Hajime tilts his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t think that—” He shakes his head. “I didn’t think.”

Kageyama says nothing, only turning his head in the opposite direction so that Hajime cannot see his face.

“Kageyama,” Hajime says, and he reaches out for Kageyama’s hand, but Kageyama pulls it away. Hajime rests his on the carpet instead.

Rather than press the issue of the window blinds, Hajime changes the subject back to what they started on. “You should come tonight, if you want to. _I_ want you there.”

“Why?” Kageyama asks, and he’s not looking at Hajime but he’s at least back to a neutral position, head forward, looking at his hand as they rest clasped together on the coffee table.

“Because we’re together.”

“We’re together.” Kageyama says, but even though his voice doesn’t inflect in a question, Hajime can tell by the crease in his brow that it is.

“Well,” Hajime says, “what would you call it? We’re living together, sharing a bed…” the other stuff doesn’t need to be mentioned aloud.

“Not everyone who sleeps together is _together_ ,” Kageyama tells him.

Hajime knows that already, though. But he knows the difference between _just sex_ and _more than just sex_ (even if it has been since grad school that he’s slept with someone), and there is something far more intimate in the way that Hajime touches Kageyama, in the way he’s allowed to touch him. It isn’t _just sex_ , but he knows if he expresses that aloud right now, Kageyama will slink away, like a cat avoiding being touched.

“Well,” Hajime says, “I’d like us to be _together_. If you want that.”

Kageyama huffs out a breath through his nose, snaps, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“ _If you want_.”

Hajime’s lips press into a thin line. He watches Kageyama, still unwilling to meet his eye, still unable to tell Hajime exactly what the problem is. He remembers his patience.

“I just want to make sure it’s clear that I don’t expect anything from you.”

“You’re a four.”

“Yes.”

“I’m a two,” Kageyama says. “Why have been so—” he trails off, making a face and gesturing with his hands rather than finishing the question. Hajime’s come to expect this, and he’s getting better at deciphering the various ways that Kageyama tries to explain things when he can’t find the words, but it’s only been two weeks.

“Why have I been so what?”

Kageyama exhales, the sound of the breath strained and forced. “Kind.”

Hajime thinks for a moment. He knows that most fours would not take in twos they found on the street. And, really, Hajime doesn’t pay mind to most anyone below a _3.0_ , even for niceties. But this is Kageyama.

“Because I knew you once,” he answers, at last. “Because I cared about you when I did.”

Kageyama bites his lip, lashes falling over his blue eyes as he looks downward at an angle, not daring to meet Hajime’s eyes. Hajime wishes he would look up.

“Because you deserve more than this.”

Because Kageyama was the greatest setter anyone had ever seen by the time he reached his third year and he should have gone on to do more, and maybe he should have even beaten Oikawa Tooru out for a starting position on the national volleyball team.

But _Kageyama 2.2_ is here, in Tokyo despite having no reason to have left Miyagi that Hajime can fathom. He’s here, and he’s jobless, and he has been taken advantage of. He never had the chance to make the national team, he never had the chance to get scouted out of college because every college that had offered him a sports scholarship rescinded it. _Kageyama 2.2_ did not get the opportunities that _Oikawa 4.9_ once did. _He_ did not abandon his friends, but rather— Hajime assumes, piecing together the little knowledge he has about Kageyama and the world around him— his friends abandoned him.

His talent did not matter.  

And Hajime remembers how Daichi told him all of this matter-of-factly. Because it is matter-of-fact. _Kageyama 2.2_ is not even in the running for importance, and he never was, despite what everyone thought before his eighteenth birthday. Despite what he might have thought himself.

That _Iwaizumi 3.6_ was able to work his way up to _Iwaizumi 4.2_ — that even he who thinks the ratings are worthless— can find a way to thrive and live within them when others— others like _Kageyama 2.2_ and _Kyoutani 1.1_ — who deserve at least as much are left with nothing leaves Hajime feeling sick when he lets himself think about it for too long.

And this is why he doesn’t care about ratings; this is why he doesn’t let himself care. The things he really thinks could ruin him. If he spoke his thoughts to anyone it _would_ ruin him. So he cannot care about the ratings _because_ of the ratings. It’s all so fucked up and frustrating and really what he needs is to not think.

He gets up from his spot on the carpet. “You don’t have to answer me right now,” Hajime says, and that’s the end of their conversation.

 

⟡

 

Kageyama decides to join the party.

“What do you want me to tell them if they ask?”

If they’re anything like they used to be, they will ask. Hanamaki, at least, will ask. Matsukawa has his suspicions already, despite Hajime trying to abate those. Which, looking back, he knows now he shouldn’t have bothered doing. It’s none of their business, but he’s no longer pretending that Kageyama’s place in his life that it really it.

Kageyama shrugs. A less than helpful answer. Still, it’s better than nothing.

They head inside early. Since Matsukawa insists that Hajime is _also_ hosting the party, he’s been summoned to help set up. Matsukawa opens the door of his apartment when they knock. The space is larger than Hajime’s, even as it’s equally ugly. He’s visited Matsukawa here plenty of times before, and the living room and kitchen together are plenty of room for all of their old teammates to fit.

“Iwaizumi,” he says, suddenly, turning to them as soon as they step through the threshold. He grabs Hajime by both his shoulders, curling his fingers into the fabric. “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Hajime says. “Only because you seem weirder than usual.”

“Yeah, whatever.” His eyes widen when he glances to the side and sees Kageyama.

He stands next to Hajime, facing a corner of the room that he’s either pretending to be interested in, or he’s just decidedly not interested in whatever is going on between Hajime and Matsukawa.

“Kageyama, good to see you.”

Kageyama glances at Matsukawa, nods, then looks away again.

“Do you mind if I steal Hajime for a moment?” Matsukawa asks, but Kageyama is already heading towards the table, which has food in different bowls set out for the guests. Matsukawa’s gaze finds Hajime again, hands still gripping at Hajime’s shirt, and he shakes his head. “That one’s still weird as ever, huh?”

“I guess? What did—”

“Come on.”

They leave through the front door that Hajime and Kageyama have just entered through, standing in the hallway of the apartment building. They huddle near the wall, despite there being no other foot traffic. It smells a little like sour milk, Hajime thinks, and he wonders whether any apartments near Tokyo that take sub-fours aren’t shit.

“Okay. What are you freaking out about?”

“He’s coming,” Matsukawa says.

“Okay, so? Distract him. Take him out to dinner or something and I can make sure that everything is ready by the time the rest of everyone shows up.”

Matsukawa shakes his head vehemently. “No. Not Hanamaki, his flight actually got delayed, so he’ll be later than we thought.”

Hajime blinks, then frowns, pulling his eyebrows together.

Even as he’s already managed to put two and two together, Matsukawa tells him, “Oikawa.”

This cannot be happening. Not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be about he, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki getting together again. It was supposed to be about seeing Yahaba and Watari and Kindaichi and Kunimi. It was supposed to be about _good_ memories. And it was supposed to be about Hajime actually proving to Kageyama that he’s not ashamed of him, rather than just saying the words.

Tonight was not supposed to be about _Oikawa 4.9_.

“No.”

“Yes, Iwaizumi.”

“How did he even find out?”

“See,” Matsukawa starts, “I was going to ask _you_ that question because you just saw him, didn’t you?”

“A week ago, yeah. But I told you I thought he wasn’t going to bother me anymore. And besides, it wasn’t me who told him anything. I only briefly mentioned that Hanamaki was coming back to Japan for a while.”

Matsukawa frowns, “Then how….” he trails off, realization lighting in his eyes, “ _Fuck_. I knew inviting that silver-haired social climber was going to bite us in the ass.”

“What?”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “ Yahaba has a 4.3 and is desperate to climb to the top, that much is obvious. So, if you didn’t tell Oikawa, then obviously he did.”

“Why would he do that, though? I doubt they’re still in touch.”

Matsukawa shrugs. “Maybe Oikawa came to him.”

“That doesn’t make sense either.”

“Okay, well, really it doesn’t matter how he found out. The point is, he’s going to be here in like an hour or so.”

“How do _you_ know this?” Hajime asks, narrowing his eyes.

Matsukawa holds up his hands. “He called me at three in the morning demanding an invitation. I was too tired to say no. And, quite frankly, after what he did to that girl in second year I am not going to be the person trying to get between him and his beloved _Iwa-chan_.”

“Wait, what? What girl in second year?”

“Oh, _fuck him_ , of course he never told— nevermind, this isn’t the time to discuss that. You need to figure out what you’re doing about Kageyama. He cannot be here when Oikawa shows up.”

This, at least, is expected. Matsukawa clearly was never keen on Kageyama coming. Hajime wonders if Matsukawa didn’t invite Oikawa from the beginning. Even if that’s not the case, if Oikawa wants to crash a party he wasn’t invited to, all to talk to Hajime— well, that’s not Hajime’s problem. It’s Oikawa’s problem. And Hajime has not felt obligated to solve Oikawa Tooru’s problems for nine years.

As for Matsukawa, well, Hajime finds himself using every ounce of self-control to hold his fist by his side, and not let it end up in Matsukawa’s face.

“Kageyama stays,” Hajime says.

“Listen, Iwaizumi. I don’t like this anymore than you,” Matsukawa says, as if that could possibly be true. As if he didn’t question whether Hajime should even help Kageyama out when Hajime first told him everything. As if he ever even knew Kageyama. “But if Oikawa sees him, given their past, who knows what he’ll do? I don’t want to lose any stars because Oikawa decides to throw a tantrum.”

“Oikawa isn’t _that_ vindictive. And even if he were, one rating isn’t going to completely bomb anyone’s rating.”

“Yeah, _one_ rating isn’t going to change anything major— but when he goes home and posts all over the timeline about us, and other people see it? That’s going to hurt probably all of us. Not just you or Kageyama or me.”

“I don’t care,” Hajime says, and he doesn’t, “I’ve given him enough; he’s not taking over my life just because he has a 4.9 and thinks he can do whatever he wants.”

“And what about Kageyama? If Oikawa sets out to destroy someone’s life further—”

“He won’t,” Hajime says. “Unless he wants to make an enemy of _me_.”

With that, Hajime turns around, angry at both Matsukawa and Oikawa, and storms back through the door.

 

⟡

 

Eventually, Matsukawa leaves to get Hanamaki from the airport. Hanamaki will stay with Matsukawa while he’s back in Japan, so coming straight to his apartment won’t raise any suspicion. Hajime doubts Matsukawa’s ability to keep his mouth shut around Hanamaki after a couple years of not seeing each other in person, though. So it’s really up to whatever gods have power over brains such as theirs.

Most of the other old teammates have shown up. All save Kindaichi.

And one particular thorn in Hajime’s side.

Kageyama attempts to talk to _Kunimi 3.4._ , sitting too close to him for comfort and making awkward starts at conversation that don’t fall correctly on anyone’s ears. For his part, Kunimi hasn’t seemed to be annoyed at the company, simply remaining as apathetic as Hajime remembers. Occasionally he sees Kunimi look up, make eye contact with Kageyama. Each time, Kageyama abruptly shuts his mouth.

Hajime sighs, grabbing another beer. He does not want to appear overbearing. Kageyama will eventually need to function in the world without him. The last thing he needs to do is seem clingy when Kageyama still hasn’t answered his earlier question.

He’s saved from thinking too much about it when Watari and Yahaba make their way towards him.

“Iwaizumi-san,” _Yahaba 4.3_  greets, the little information oval appearing clearly around his face. “it’s great to see you.”

 _Watari 3.9_ grins at Hajime.

“Good to see you both, too. How have things been?”

The three of them make small talk for a couple minutes. Hajime learns that Yahaba works at a wealth management firm doing analyst work of some type. Watari works as a chef at some restaurant.

“Nothing big and fancy,” he says, “but it’s fun and it pays the bills.”

“He’s being modest,” Yahaba says, “the restaurant is four-stars and up.”

“Really?” Hajime asks, “But you’re—” he falters, catching himself in social disgrace.

Watari laughs it off. “I know. But I’m also one of the two chefs they have that can properly make most of our specials, so they have no choice but to keep me.”

“Do either of you know what happened with Kyoutani?” Hajime asks.

Yahaba’s face darkens. “No,” he says, sharply.

Watari looks at Hajime, apologetic. “All we know is that he’s still in Miyagi. Not sure what he’s doing.” He pauses, then adds, “Not sure what he _can_ do.”  Watari sounds sad, but Yahaba looks decidedly harsh still.

Hajime’s saved from having to change the topic when the door of the apartment bursts open.  A tall figure stands in the doorway. Even before the circle appears, even before the door closes and he has to see his face, Hajime’s gut clenches uncomfortably.

Yahaba heads towards the door. Watari stays behind with Hajime, watching for a moment, until the door closes, and _Oikawa 4.9_ is greeting Yahaba with a sickening amount of grandeur.

Watari turns to Hajime and says, “Sorry about Yahaba he— well, things with Kyoutani ended badly.”

“ _Things_ with Kyoutani?” Hajime asks.

“Yeah,” Watari pauses for a moment, face twisting as he thinks. “They dated for awhile during third year. Actually, they were together until nearly the end. It was over before it was over, though. Around November, Yahaba started showing up to lunch and talking about how gay men on average have lower ratings than straight men, and how it was a tragedy that he and Kyoutani could never be public because of that.

“I tried to tell him that they could, he just had to choose it. He always changed the subject as soon as Kyoutani joined us. Yahaba ended things as soon as Kyoutani got his rating though— a 2.0 back then— and I think Kyoutani called him a coward and walked off or something. I still don’t know the whole story though.”

Hajime feels rather empathetic for Kyoutani.

“I think,” Watari says, looking back over to Yahaba and Oikawa. Hajime looks as well. “I think if he had seen things work out between you guys in the end, maybe he wouldn’t have felt so scared.”

Hajime no longer finds himself surprised to know that everyone else knew about his feelings for Oikawa. Looking back, he was never very good at hiding them. Really, he’s not sure whether he was ever trying to until the end.

“Things didn’t work out,” Hajime says.

“And now you’re with Kageyama,” Watari says.

“And _he’s_ marrying Kudo Akane,” he replies, because this is not his fault. There was no way even Oikawa could have known how their falling out would affect the younger members of the team. It was none of their business anyway.

Watari smiles, almost sympathetically, an expression Hajime finds annoying. He doesn’t show that, though. Not to one of the only people he can stand here.

“Yahaba tried to go back a few years ago and apologize. Kyoutani left him with a black eye.”

Hajime thinks that Yahaba deserved it. But maybe he’s projecting.

Whatever he might say to Watari is lost when Oikawa spots him and exclaims, “ _Iwa-chan_!” loud enough for it to echo against the paper-thin plaster walls. He waves and Hajime sighs.

This is not his party to ruin.

He walks over to Oikawa.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you and Watachi,” Oikawa says.

“You didn’t.”

“I wasn’t sure whether I’d run into you here,” Oikawa continues, flippantly.

Hajime doesn’t have the patience. “Matsukawa told me you called him at three in the morning.”

“Did he?” Oikawa looks surprised, but he blinks quickly and seems to recover. “Well, I would have called him earlier but I was busy the whole day. And then Kuroo _insisted_ on throwing my bachelor party last night, so it had to wait until after that. But—”

“So you called him while you were wasted to get invited to a party you have no interest in?”

“That’s not true. Mattsun and Makki were as much my best friends as they were yours.”

Hajime presses his lips tightly together to contain the words he _wants_ to say, the words that will get him in trouble. Hanamaki hasn’t even shown up yet, and this is still not his party to ruin.  

“Right, well. There’s food,” he gestures lamely towards the table, before turning away.

He feels Oikawa’s eyes on his back as he walks toward Kageyama and Kunimi. Both are silent, Kageyama laser-focused in his stare at Kunimi likely trying to figure out what approach to try next to make a conversation last, and Kunimi boredly scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” Hajime says, placing a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder as he sits down, on the other side of Kageyama on Matsukawa’s couch. Plush material sticks through a hole in the fabric of it. “I’m sorry,” he continues,  “I didn’t know he would show up until an hour ago and— if his being here makes you uncomfortable we can go.”

Kageyama looks over to Oikawa, and something flashes in his blue eyes that Hajime does not recognize. He knows their past nearly as well as they know it themselves, but he was never the one Oikawa intentionally set out to destroy. Oikawa represents something for Kageyama that Hajime may never fully comprehend. He hopes he never has to, even as he feels guilty for not having been through it himself.

Kageyama looks back at Hajime, fidgets. “Why is he here?”

“Because he forced Matsukawa to invite him,” Hajime says. He thinks he hears Kunimi snort at that. He may have imagined it, though. “We don’t have to stay.”

Kageyama looks at Oikawa again, bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth. Once again, Hajime wonders whether he’ll draw blood.

“No,” he says, finally, “we can stay.”

“Okay,” Hajime says.

He makes small talk with Kunimi for awhile, who puts down his phone and obliges for Hajime. It isn’t until Kindaichi arrives that they stop the conversation, Kunimi standing from his place at the couch and heading in Kindaichi’s direction.

Kageyama watches, something in his eyes that Hajime can’t place, something different from the way he looked at Oikawa.  Hajime realizes he’s sad.

 

⟡

 

Hanamaki arrives, strolling in with a pair of sunglasses on, which he does not take off once inside. Hajime hopes that it’s an ironic decision. Hanamaki first greets Watari, Yahaba, and Oikawa. Matsukawa heads directly for Hajime.

“He figured it out on the way here,” Matsukawa says. “Apparently, surprise birthday parties way before his birthday is something his American friends have done before.”  Matsukawa frowns, like he’s failed. “Well,” he says, “at least they don’t have cream puffs in America.”

Hajime isn’t sure if Matsukawa’s joking.  He’s afraid to ask.

“Has he behaved?” Matsukawa asks, voice almost a whisper.

Hajime knows who he’s talking about. “So far.”

Matsukawa’s jaw relaxes slightly, just noticeable enough for Hajime to catch it. Hanamaki strolls over to them, after fist-bumping with Watari. Kageyama slinks off to sit with Kunimi and Kindaichi, and none of the three of them seems happy about it.

“Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki says, grinning, arms wide, “it’s been too long my friend.”

Before Hajime can stop it, he’s pulled into an uncomfortably tight hug, picked up, and whirled in a circle.

Hanamaki places him back down. “Still the height of a lovely maiden. If slightly less _lovely_.”

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” Hajime says, “you can go back to America now.”

Hanamaki grins.

Matsukawa elbows Hanamaki slightly, “Hajime here brought Kageyama along.”

“Is that so?” Hanamaki asks. “I thought maybe he got back in touch with Kunimi or Kindaichi. Clearly I’ve missed a lot. You know I thought maybe when I saw Oikawa was here that—” he abruptly cuts himself off.

Hajime shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that anymore, we’re not in high school.”

Hanamaki lets out a loud exhale. “Oh, thank God, I was worried you guys would never figure that shit out— but he’s getting married to that Kudo girl, right? I never thought they’d last.”

“Me either,” admits Matsukawa.

“At least you’re all getting along again.”

The look on Hajime’s face must say what he doesn’t say aloud, because Hanamaki nods, the look on his face one of a man who’s realized he’s extremely wrong. He takes the hint graciously, and declares in pristine English for all their teammates to hear, “ _Let them eat cake_!”

“We haven’t even eaten dinner,” Hajime says.

“And it’s not even my birthday,” Hanamaki replies, “So, we’ll have cake now.”

Hajime and Matsukawa end up stuck with the job of handing out the cake and cutting it into evenly spaced pieces. Well, they’re supposed to be even but Hajime does a horrible job at that, which makes him feel about as competent as a toddler. Not that a toddler should ever hold a knife. Despite his uneven cutting, everyone manages to get a decent piece of cake.

After they finish passing out the sweet dessert, he scans for Kageyama. He sits alone, on the floor a few feet away from Kindaichi and Kunimi, with an angry Oikawa standing over him.

Hajime sighs. He says to Matsukawa, “I guess I’m the one who gets to deal with that.”

“Have fun,” Matsukawa says, as Hajime heads in the direction of _Kageyama 2.2_ and _Oikawa 4.9_.

“What is going on here?” he asks when he reaches them, glaring directly at Oikawa. He’s not entirely sure how intimidating he can look as he holds a plate of cake in one hand and a plastic fork in the other, but he tries anyway.

“I was just asking Tobio-chan why he’s here tonight.”

“He came with me,” Hajime says.

Oikawa’s gaze snaps away from Kageyama to look at Hajime. “Why,” Oikawa asks, menacing smile on his face, “would you come to Makki’s surprise party with him?”

Hajime glances at Kageyama, who looks confused. Looking back at Oikawa, Hajime registers the murderous intent in his chocolate brown eyes. It isn’t a look that’s ever been directed _at_ Hajime. It’s a look he expected to never see directed at anyone again. It was this look in Oikawa’s eyes that made Karasuno’s tiny middle blocker cower all those years ago.

But Hajime is not afraid of _Oikawa 4.9_.

“The same reason,” Hajime replies, coolly, “that he and I share a bed.”  This isn’t fully true, but Hajime isn’t feeling particularly kind right now. And for a split second, the look of horror in Oikawa’s eyes satisfies him. He almost wants to say more.

He doesn’t get the chance. Oikawa pulls his phone from his pocket and storms away. Hajime’s phone doesn’t notify him like he expects it to. Instead, Kageyama’s phone— a small, modest one Hajime had bought a few days ago for him (despite Kageyama’s protests that he could not possibly take it‚ in not so many words)— vibrates loudly against the table.

Kageyama doesn’t make any move to check it, but it doesn’t matter. Hajime knows what Oikawa’s done.

“Wait here,” he says to Kageyama.

He finds Oikawa outside the apartment building, watching cars pass by on the road in front of them. Commuters from Tokyo who work Saturdays, Hajime thinks. Oikawa does not look up when the door opens, nor when it closes once more.  Hajime doesn’t know why he expected Oikawa Tooru would have grown up since eighteen. Why he thought maybe Oikawa would refrain from throwing a tantrum and running away to sulk.

“Oikawa,” Hajime says, “you and I need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” Oikawa asks, voice harsh. “You clearly want nothing to do with me. I don’t even know why I thought—”  He doesn’t finish, even after Hajime waits for him to collect his thoughts. Oikawa just shakes his head and leans against the brick wall of the building.

“Why did you do that to Kageyama?”

“You know that I hated him,” Oikawa says. “You _knew_ how much I used to hate him. And now you’re sleeping with him?”

“Who I’m sleeping with has nothing to do with you.”

“Since when are you even into men?”

“Since always.”

Oikawa’s face twists up, Hajime can see it even as Oikawa refuses to look up, still. “You never said.”

“I didn’t,” Hajime admits.

Finally, Oikawa meets his eye. “We used to be best friends. Why didn’t you ever say anything back then?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”  And it’s true. He’d never said anything because he was afraid if he did, Oikawa would realize that Hajime was in love with _him._ And back then the last thing he wanted to do was lose his best friend.

But he lost Oikawa anyway.  

He rubs at the back of his head. Sighs. “I kind of thought you knew, anyway. At the end.”

“I didn’t. Why would you think that?”

Hajime shrugs. That doesn’t matter now either.  “Look,” he says, “you crossed a line back there, rating Kageyama because of me. I’m sorry that you’re going through whatever shit it is that’s making you try to force your way back into my life. But it stops now, okay? I don’t ever want to hear from you again.”

Oikawa exhales, and looks away from Hajime, hair falling into his eyes. His expression remains hard. Hajime knows better than to believe Oikawa is letting Hajime know any of his true emotions in this moment. He's never been that honest. And Hajime doesn't know what he's thinking, but he knows Oikawa cares more than he'll let on.

They’re both silent. Hajime waits for Oikawa to acknowledge his words, to agree that it ends here, that he’ll never bother Hajime again.

At length, Oikawa says, “Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“I know that what I did back in high school hurt you— not just you either, I know I was a shitty friend to Mattsun and Makki too, but I knew you my whole life— you meant more to me than anything else in the world.”

“Not stars,” Hajime says, “not volleyball.”   _Not Kudo 4.5_ , he doesn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says.

“For which part?” Hajime asks.

“For abandoning you back then. I thought—” Oikawa exhales harshly, and Hajime dully realizes he’s holding back tears.

He hates that he knows this, still, after nine years. That he remembers what Oikawa, nearly breaking, sounds like. Back then he would have reached out a hand and wiped the tears away himself. Now he leans into his heels and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I thought once I made it to the national team it’d be worth it. Looking back now it’s so—” Oikawa makes a frustrated sound, high-pitched, from his throat. “— _stupid_. I thought that I’d be happier when I _finally_ reached the national team, but now I’m here and all I can think about is what I had to give up to get here, and if it was worth it.” He pauses. Lets out a strangled exhale. “Whenever I’ve thought of you, every time I’ve thought of you, I—”

“Was it worth it?” Hajime asks, despite himself.

“No,” Oikawa admits, and Hajime didn’t expect this. “If I could go back I wouldn’t sit with her at lunch that day.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime says, “you’re _marrying_ her.”

“That’s not the point,” Oikawa says.

Hajime wants to argue, but before he can, Oikawa asks, “Why won’t you just give me another chance at being your friend? I’ll leave you alone forever, if that’s what you really want, but please, just tell me why.”

Hajime doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Can you give me at least this?” Oikawa asks again.

Hajime isn’t sure whether he has the words. But he tries. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Oikawa. You abandoned us. You abandoned _me_ , your best friend since before we could even walk, and for what? For people who barely knew you, because they had higher ratings. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? You could never—” Hajime cuts off, shakes his head. “It wasn’t just that you dropped me as your best friend, though,” he admits, “I was in love with you, Oikawa. For so long, I was in love with you. And you just—” An exhale. “You broke my heart.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything

Hajime adds, “I wish I could stop holding that against you. You didn’t know, I guess, and even if you did my feelings weren’t your responsibility, but— but I don’t think I can ever forget how that felt. It took me so long to move past that; I was angry with you for a long time, and I think… even now—”  

Time stretches between them. He thinks if eternities could be measured in silences, there would be infinite eternities between them now. Still, Hajime feels as though he’s inhaled for the first time in nine years. For the first time in his life, maybe.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa finally says. “I didn’t— I didn’t know that you—”

Hajime does want to hear excuses. He doesn’t let him finish.

“Go home, Oikawa,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl you guys. this was the most fun chapter for me to write so far besides maybe the intro chapter. and, yes, i do have anon turned on on my tumblr askbox so feel free to cyberbully me for this one, i would want to, if i were you.
> 
> another self-beta'd chapter bc karinne has another month of bar studies, and i need to get as much done w/ this fic this month as i can before i start working on my new fic in july. i will probably find typos and/or missing sentences later (legit just found a weird ass typo and a missing phrase or two in the last chapter last night), but if you notice weird stuff let me know.


	7. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > He tried. 
>> 
>> He’s _trying._

It’s been a long night by the time Tooru returns to his apartment building. He’s dreading what might await him inside at the penthouse. The front door scans his face and only allows him entry when it recognizes a high-four. Anyone below a 4.5 isn’t allowed residency in the building, and any guests below 4.5 are required to be signed in by the tenant they’re visiting.

Moving here seemed like a great idea when he and Kudo moved in together a few years ago. They have the entire penthouse to themselves. Sure, _Kudo 4.7_ and _Oikawa 4.9_ aren’t exactly the biggest celebrities in Tokyo, but their ratings have been especially helpful. Tooru’s more famous for his 4.9 rating than his volleyball skills. If he had known that the national team would take ratings below 4.5— _Nishinoya 4.4_ , for example— he wonders whether he wouldn’t have spent more time practicing and less time caring about his social status.

Since his eighteenth birthday, Tooru’s rating has never dipped out of the fours. The lowest it ever dropped was to a low-four back in college, after he realized he lost his best friend for real. He had known that things with Iwaizumi were going to be difficult to patch up, but he hadn’t expected to show up to the Iwaizumi house and be given the cold shoulder the entire time. And sure, what he did to Iwaizumi and Matsukawa and Hanamaki was just plain shitty, but how was he supposed to make it up to Iwaizumi before when he wouldn’t even look Tooru in the eye?

So this is not all Tooru’s fault.

He tried.

He’s _trying_.

It’s not Tooru’s fault that Iwaizumi was in love with him and never said anything. Even the man himself admitted that his feelings weren’t Tooru’s responsibility. Still, Tooru can’t help thinking that had he known back then—

It doesn’t matter.

He takes the elevator up to the penthouse— another identity scan to go upwards on the elevator— and then, when he gets to the top, unlocks the penthouse door with his key. It opens, and Tooru steps through into the darkness of the penthouse. Lights turn on, each in succession, through the main foyer. They’re motion-sensor lights, which makes for a very dramatic entry on nights like tonight, but is actually kind of annoying when he’s passed out on the living room couch after a night of studying opponent teams when Aka-chan shows up from her own work or social events.

Large pieces of art that he and Aka-chan once picked out together line the walls. Most of them are black-and-white, playing up the dramatics of the interior, complementing the plain wall colors. There’s a sitting area with four lounge chairs and a round, glass coffee table between them. Tooru’s never actually sat in them.  

He hears his own footsteps against the floor. There’s no call of _Tooru!_ from the bedroom or the living room or any other room which means penthouse sounds otherwise empty. He’s glad for that, glad that Aka-chan isn’t here to ask him why he’s home so early. He had told her that he was going out with some other teammates— Kuroo, Bokuto, Nishinoya, even Ushijima— when she had asked him what his plans were for the evening. She nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll find something to busy myself with.”

He feels bad for lying, but what is he supposed to tell her? That he’s trying to win his childhood best friend back? He feels even more guilty now, knowing what Iwaizumi told him back at Matsukawa’s apartment because, at some level, Tooru had known for his whole life that he was in love with Iwaizumi. And after nine years, he still hasn’t fully gotten over it.  

He never expected Iwaizumi to come to the wedding, and Tooru’s almost relieved that he never RSVP'd. Ever since he went into the physical therapy office and met with Iwaizumi for the first time in too many years, he hasn’t been able to get his old best friend out of his head. If Iwaizumi had RSVP’d _yes_ and then shown up to the wedding, Tooru can’t help but worry about what he might have done.  

Would he have stopped his own wedding?

If he stops wondering, he starts to feel even worse. He can’t stop playing Iwaizumi’s confession over in his head.

_For so long, I was in love with you._

Before tonight, trying to win back his old best friend without telling Aka-chan was just a little lie of omission. But now Tooru knows that Iwaizumi used to be in love with him. And Tooru— Tooru thinks he’ll never _not_ be in love with Iwaizumi, but he blew his chance at eighteen and Iwaizumi has obviously moved on. He’s moved on, of course he has; why would he not? Why would he not move on when Tooru’s been with Kudo Akane ever since?

He wishes he could bleach tonight’s conversation from his memory. He wishes he could forget hearing his once best friend, the once love of his young, pining life say to him: _You broke my heart._

It’s so unfair.

Tooru hadn’t _known_ that he even had the power to break Iwaizumi’s heart.

And he had asked. _He had asked_. He had asked Iwaizumi what he thought of Aka-chan that first day. Tooru had asked what his best friend thought of his asking her out and Iwaizumi hadn’t so much as flinched at the mention of it. How was Tooru supposed to know? And if Iwaizumi had just told him, had just said something back then, maybe—

No. He can’t go down this road. Not in the apartment he shares with the woman he’s going to be marrying in a month.

In his bedroom, he slips out of his tailored, navy button-up and white dress pants. He pulls on a tee-shirt— an old one that for the last few years he’s worn only in the confines of this bedroom, only in the presence of Aka-chan— and a pair of gray sweatpants.

It’s too early to get into bed, but he’s not sure what else to do, so he finds himself getting under the comforter— white, down-filled— and burying his head into his pillow. This bed, _his_ bed, that’s really his and Aka-chan’s, but that he’s never really thought of in that way. Aka-chan is one of the best people he’s ever met, and he’s eternally grateful to have her in his life, but still he finds himself avoiding having to be intimate with her.

He’s re-used the same excuses over and over and Aka-chan— ever patient, ever sweet, ever understanding— always smiles and says, “Okay,” or “That’s fine,” or “It’s no big deal, really,” and then gets out of the bed to go do something else. Usually he finds her in the TV room later, lounging on the couch, and yawning as she watches some crime show. Not once has she complained or questioned him.

Nine years he’s been with her. One year they’ve been engaged.

Why hasn’t it ever been enough?

Tooru thinks of Kageyama’s stupid expression and blank eyes tonight. The way he looked confused when Tooru asked why he was at Hanamaki’s party. He thinks of the way Iwaizumi said, _The same reason that he and I share a bed,_ vindictive in a way that he hasn’t mustered at all until tonight towards Tooru, even when he’s grown visibly and vocally frustrated at Tooru’s insistence on squeezing back into his life.

He just wants his best friend back, his former best friend who, as it turns out, even after nine years apart, is still more important to him than anyone else in the world, including the woman he’s asked to marry him. Finally, Tooru realizes: it _is_ too much to ask.

 

⟡

 

Tooru sits up and rubs his eyes, vision bleary from sleep. He hears the sound of wood hitting softly against wood. Belatedly, he recognizes it as the closing of dresser drawers.

“Oh. Sorry, honey,” Aka-chan says, “did I wake you up?”

His eyes find her, and he smiles at her, shaking his head lightly. “Yeah, but it’s fine.”

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, “I didn’t expect you to get home before me.”

Tooru frowns. No, he’s not feeling okay. But what is he supposed to tell his faincée? That he found out his childhood best friend was in love with him back before they got their ratings? Back when he asked her out? Is he supposed to tell her that he thinks he’s still in love with Iwaizumi after all these years, despite asking her to marry him a year ago? He doubts that if he does, telling her Iwaizumi isn’t interested in him will save things with her.

And he wants at least this.

Aka-chan places a set of night clothes at the foot of the bed and walks to sit next to Tooru on the edge of his side of the king-sized mattress. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel sick,” she tells him.

“I was just tired,” he lies.

“Well it’s a good thing you came home then,” she says, “you need to be at your best for your game this week.”

Tooru nods, then lies back so his head rests on the pillow. He watches Aka-chan as she pulls pins out of her brown-auburn hair. It cascades down in pieces from its place in a high bun at the crown of her head.

“I don’t think Iwa-chan is coming to the wedding,” Tooru says.

Aka-chan turns her head to look at him, eyes wide with questions. She recovers herself quickly though, turning back to her mirror as she finishes taking her hair down. “Oh,” she says. She turns to him, and pulls her blouse over her head then unhooks her bra and lets that fall to floor before pulling on the tanktop that she left on the bed.

“I mean,” she starts, as she unbuttons her jeans. “I’m sure he’s a busy guy. Plus, you haven’t even talked to him in nine years— he probably feels weird about it.”

Tooru sighs. “I guess.”

He doesn’t think that now is the time to correct her. Knowing that Iwaizumi was in love with him changes so much. It changes the fact that Tooru had sought him out to be his physical therapist. It changes that Tooru has gone to lunch with him with the hopes of befriending him again. These are all things he would have told her later, after the wedding, after Iwaizumi had shown up to congratulate the happy couple, after he and Aka-chan had gotten to know each other and hit it off, because, really, he thinks that Aka-chan would love Iwa-chan, just never as much as Tooru did— does.

Now, Tooru realizes if Iwaizumi did show up to the wedding, after nine years apart, Tooru might have hoped for… something he doesn’t want to articulate even in thought. Especially not now. Not when it’s too late.

Aka-chan smiles, letting the elastic of her shorts slap against the skin of her hips. She jumps onto the bed, making the mattress bounce lightly, and she laughs at the look Tooru gives her. When he doesn’t laugh too, she sighs.

“Hey,” she says, she cups his chin between two fingers and pulls his head so he faces her. “It’s not that big of a deal, right? You haven’t seen him in nine years, and you have other friends now, friends closer than him. Kuroo’s your best man.”

Tooru frowns, “Kuroo hasn’t known me since childhood. You and No-chan are still best friends.”

Aka-chan grins at him, the light skin around her dark brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yeah and she’s also the most annoying of my friends still.”

Tooru laughs slightly, but it sounds off even to his ears.

Aka-chan tilts her head. “Ah,” she says, “I get it.”

Tooru panics. He’s lived with her for the last six years, the last three of those have been in this penthouse. Of course she knows him better than anyone. Still, he never expected her to figure out that he’s in love with a guy he hasn’t spoken to for longer. He had been able to believe he was over Iwa-chan for a long time until he saw him again. Has the change in his own realizations been so obvious to his fiancée?

“You still feel guilty about how things ended,” Aka-chan says.

Tooru’s heart still beats erratically, but he feels a wave of relief. “Yeah,” he says, “I do.”

And it’s true. He does feel bad for breaking off contact and distancing himself from his friends back then, especially Iwaizumi, but it would have hurt far more had he stayed.

He had thought for sure that if he threw himself into a relationship with _Kudo 4.5_ that eventually his feelings for _Iwaizumi 3.6_ would fade, that those feelings had to fade because there was no way that Tooru’s feelings could be reciprocated. He was so sure at eighteen that he had made the right decision. That _Kudo 4.5_ would be the better option for his rating, for his career, but he’ll never know for sure. He is sure, however, that he hasn’t felt happy for more than a fleeting second since he received his 4.7 stars all those years ago.

Aka-chan leans backwards, lifting her hips so she can rearrange the blanket and get herself underneath it without having to stand back up.  Tooru has seen her do this countless times. It’s endearing, and when she turns to look at him, he wishes he could feel all the things he’s claimed to. She deserves them more than anyone, even more than Iwaizumi probably. Certainly she deserves them more than Tooru.

“Maybe,” she says, “you should apologize to him.” She pauses, narrows her eyes a little bit. “Don’t do that thing you usually do, though.”

“What thing?” Tooru asks.

Aka-chan rolls her eyes, like Tooru should already know the answer. “That _thing_ you do. You go way over-the-top and ruin the whole gesture. Remember that fight we had a couple years ago?”

Tooru grimaces. He remembers. “Yeah.”

“Remember what you did to apologize?”

He remembers that, too. He had ordered an extravagant cake— twelve layers, peach icing, elaborate white and pink floral fondant decorations, and stenciled script lettering _I’m sorry Aka-chan_ — that she had in the end appreciated, but only after arguing more with him about it. She had told him it was unnecessary, that if he thought that was what she wanted then maybe he didn’t know her at all.

“Don’t do anything big and overdramatic, okay? Iwaizumi-san doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like that from what I remember.”

“And what exactly would you remember?” Tooru asks, tone biting. He sounds almost defensive, that someone else should think they know Iwaizumi. It’s a ridiculous thing to feel because really he doesn’t even know Iwaizumi at this point, but he wants to know him again, more than he’s wanted anything in nine years.

He’s not sure whether Aka-chan can read his mind, but her eyes widen and her breath hitches, and Tooru realizes he’s said the wrong thing.

Before he can apologize, she says, voice taught, “Good night, Tooru.” And it’s not a playful _Good night, honey_ with a kiss on the cheek, but Tooru can’t apologize when the wound is so fresh.

“Good night,” he says, out of obligation.

Akane flips the light switch.

 

⟡

 

Monday morning, after practice, Kuroo slips an arm around Tooru’s shoulders after they’ve both finished changing in the locker room.

“What did you think of that bachelor party?”

Tooru had nearly forgotten that Kuroo had taken him out to get him wasted on Friday night. The tone of Kuroo’s voice is dangerous, a venomous snake getting ready to bite. There’s a lot from Friday night that Tooru doesn’t remember, and clearly Kuroo knows something he’s not supposed to.

“Just spit it out,” Tooru says.

“Oh ho. Touchy today, are we?”

Tooru grinds his teeth. “I’m not exactly in a great mood.”

“How was your Saturday?” Kuroo asks, rather than actually leave Tooru alone.

“What about my Saturday?”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Your Saturday? Were you hungover? You were so drunk that you said some pretty _unforgivable_ things.”

“Unforgivable things?”

Kuroo looks over his shoulder, peeking around the edge of the lockers to see if anyone is still around but the two of them. When it’s clear they’re alone, Kuroo sits on one of the benches, stretching his long legs outward. He grips the opposite side of the bench with his hands and leans back. The position looks rather dramatic, and Tooru thinks that’s on purpose.

He hates Kuroo a little bit for having fun with this. “What did I say to you on Friday?”

"Well, you did seem upset that you weren't getting married to _Iwa-chan._ "

Tooru groans. “I did not say that.”

Kuroo makes a sound. “‘Fraid you did, though.”

“Why were we even—”

“If it helps,” Kuroo interrupts, “I’ll remind you what I told you on Friday night. Since you don’t seem to have any recollection of that particular conversation.”

“Okay,” Tooru says, expectantly.

For his part, Tooru just sits straddling the bench next to Kuroo’s, watching him and waiting to hear what he has to say.

“As it was your bachelor party— _for the wedding you’re having in a month_ — we were talking about weddings. Mostly yours, but then I mentioned that I’m also a groomsman in Sawamura’s wedding.”

“Right—” Tooru says, hesitant, pretending that he vaguely remembers any of this.

God, how much alcohol did Kuroo give him?

“And I said to you, ‘You know back in third year I sorta had a thing for Sawamura.’ And you said, ‘It really sucks then that he’s getting married.’ So I said, ‘No. I don’t have a thing for him anymore, and I haven’t since before we were even in college.’

“Then you and your drunk self leaned into my shoulder and attempted to whisper when you said, ‘I liked someone in third year, too.’ Now, mind you, I assumed you were talking about Kudo, so I said: ‘I would hope so since you’re marrying her next month.’

 _“You_ proceeded to look at me like you were shocked and confused by that statement and you asked aloud, and I quote, ‘I’m marrying Iwa-chan?’”

Kuroo purses his lips and watches Tooru when he’s finished telling him these details.

Tooru doesn’t think he’s ever felt more mortified in his life. “I said that,” he says, “out loud. To you? During my bachelor party?”

Kuroo nods. “That’s not all though. Do you want me to tell you the rest or—”

Tooru nods, “Tell me, please. I just— I don’t want to hear it but I need to know what I said.”

“Okay, if you really want,” Kuroo says, like it doesn’t make a difference to him. It probably doesn’t. “So I had to break the news to you that no, you were not in fact marrying Iwa-chan. And then you _pouted_ — like that face you make when someone tells you something you don’t like, but you looked more like a toddler who was genuinely upset than a grown man plotting someone’s demise— and you said, ‘Oh. Right. Aka-chan.’ Like you weren’t super happy to be getting married to the woman you’ve been with for _nine years._

“So I asked you, ‘Would you rather be marrying Iwaizumi-san?’ To which you replied by downing a shot of sake like it was water and then attempting to wander off somewhere on your own until I stopped you by grabbing the back of your shirt.”

Tooru inhales deeply, exhales. He will not break down here. He will not freak out in front of Kuroo Tetsurou about this. “Is that all?”

Kuroo shrugs and nods. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Tooru swears lightly under his breath, looks down at his hands which grip the sides of the locker room bench.

“I’m no expert,” Kuroo says, “but I think you need to have a serious talk with Kudo, because she is genuinely in love with you, and if you’re marrying her just because you can’t have Iwaizumi-san, that’s pretty shitty.”

Tooru sighs and avoids Kuroo’s gaze. He doesn’t like that this is what it looks like to Kuroo. He’s not _just_ marrying Aka-chan because he can’t have Iwaizumi; that’s not why he’s doing it at all. He might not feel for her anything he’s ever felt for Iwa-chan, but she is the most important person in his life. And they’ve been through so much in nine years that he can’t just give it up now.  Not when they’re so close to getting married.

“So,” Kuroo says, “what’s been going on with you recently?”

Tooru frowns. “I just— I miss him, but he refuses to even give me a chance.”

Kuroo sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do. And it’s not my place to interfere. But you need to seriously think about what you want, because you have not been yourself. It’s tearing you apart, and you’re going to end up severely hurting someone else in the process of figuring it out.”

Kuroo has never been so direct with him. Tooru isn’t sure what to think of it, and when has Kuroo become an expert on life advice anyway? He’s never even had a serious relationship, all he’s done is hook-up with anyone who give him a second glance for as long as Tooru’s known him.

“Yeah,” Tooru says, “because you’re such a great person. Of course you know what I should do. _Thank you so much, Kuroo-sama._ ”

Kuroo frowns. He looks almost sinister with the way his hair falls in his face, and the way his eyes narrow in on Tooru. “ _That_ ,” he says, gesturing to Tooru, “is exactly what I’m talking about. Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything. I’m your friend and I’ll support you no matter what you decide, but I’m telling you right now that I think you’re a coward— among other less pleasant things— if you don’t at least _talk_ to your fiancée.”

Tooru runs a hand through his hair. “I—okay— I’ll talk to her. You’re right.”

Kuroo makes a face— _Duh, I’m right_ — and the conversation ends.

 

⟡

 

Akane’s dressed in a tight black dress that comes down to her mid-thigh. Black lace sleeves and neckline converge below her collarbone with an opaque layer of dark cloth. It clings everywhere and she truly is breathtaking, the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. Tooru can feel all eyes in the room on her.

There’s nothing like walking into a room of high-fours with Akane at his side.

It feels like they could take on anything, everything. Tooru hopes they still will, that she’ll forgive him after tonight. He hasn’t even said what he’s planned on telling her since his conversation with Kuroo on Monday.

She folds her hands. “Tooru,” she says, coy smile on her lips, bright expression in her eyes. “You did _not_ have to get us reservations here for tonight. What are you going to do? Propose to me again?” Her tone is light and playful, and Tooru’s heart jumps to his throat, threatening to leap out without his permission.

“Aka-chan,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face, into his eyes. He hopes it looks genuine. She’s one of the only two people who were ever able to tell the difference. “I just wanted to do something nice.”

And it must not look genuine, because Akane’s eyes narrow, her brow pulls in, and she studies him. “Tooru, is everything okay?”

No, it isn’t. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Something is wrong, and of course she can tell when she knows him better than anyone, even himself.

The waitress shows up to take their drink orders before Akane can continue to interrogate him.  Tooru orders a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and hopes that the discussion with Akane is over for now. He wants to at least get through dinner.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Akane asks. “It certainly doesn’t seem like it is.”

“Can we at least wait to order?” He means to ask calmly, but the words snap at her without his permission.

Akane blinks twice, her expression changing. She frowns. “Fine,” she says and pretends to read the menu like she doesn’t order the same thing every time they’ve been here anyway. “I don’t know why you have to do this, though.”

“Do what?” Tooru asks.

“Make a huge production of giving me bad news.”

“Why do you assume it’s bad news?”

Akane’s eyes narrow. “I know you think you’re some master at hiding what you’re really thinking, but anyone with half a brain can see right through you.”

He thinks, _You haven’t. Not for nine years._

“What is it that you want to tell me? Please, Tooru, do _not_ make me wait until I have a plate of hot food I can dump over you.”

If he overthinks this, he won’t say it at all.  He takes a deep breath, forces himself to count to three, and then blurts out, “I’m not in love with you.”

Akane looks at him in disbelief or shock. “What?”

“I’m not— I’ve never been in love with you.”

Akane presses her lips together and looks at the table. He thinks she’s probably imagining the ways she can use it as a murder weapon. She glances up and looks at the others in the restaurant.  She says, voice an audible threatening hiss, “I don’t want to to do this _here_ , Tooru.”

“I know, but—”

“But what? You couldn’t tell me in our own house?”

Tooru’s interrupted from answering when the sommelier comes to the table with their bottle of wine. The whole production of them tasting it and making sure its good goes rather smoothly, and if the sommelier can tell that the atmosphere between Tooru and Akane is strained, she doesn’t point it out or let it bother her.

“Aka-chan, I—”

“ _No._ No. You don’t get to call me that right now. I am not going to cause a scene, if only for my own sake. We’re going to finish dinner, then we’re going to leave, and I’m going to pack my overnight back. Then I’m going to get on a train to Miyagi and spend a few days back at my parents’ house, and—”

Tooru tries to say, “I don’t want—”

“You don’t want _what_?”

“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“You don’t want to lose me, _too_. What the hell, Tooru?”

Tooru doesn’t say anything and Akane lets out a hoarse false laugh. “I knew it. I knew something was up with you the past couple weeks. I figured it was just a weird mood swing or something, but I didn’t think—” She cuts off, shakes her head. “How long?”

“How long?” Tooru repeats confused.

“Yes, _Tooru_. How long have you been cheating on me?”

Tooru shakes his head. “I haven’t. I would never cheat on you.”

“Really? Not even if Iwaizumi walked through those doors and got on his knees?”

Tooru feels his mouth fall open and he’s not even sure what to say to that. The look on his face is clearly enough, because Akane isn’t finished.  “You aren’t the only one who’s perceptive,” she says. “Now, can we please just have dinner?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to karinne ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks/works)) for reading this over for me! i'm super grateful for all you've done for me and this fic and you're one of the main reasons i'm still here.


	8. VI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > On his way out the door, he glances over to the couch. Kageyama’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did consider upping the rating for this chapter but its p tame imo? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

By the time the party ends, the air outside cools Hajime’s skin. It’s darker here— outside of Matsukawa’s apartment, an hour train ride away from Hajime’s— than in Tokyo at night.

The night in Tokyo is nearly bright as the day, until one cranes their neck toward the sky to see the sky void of any light except for the moon. Hajime sees more stars here than in the city, but it still doesn’t seem like many when he remembers nights in Miyagi.

His chest pangs at the thought of home.  His house is probably quiet now with all the lights off and both his parents asleep. He hasn’t been to visit them in months. He should see them soon; they’re certainly not getting any younger. No doubt his mother will tell him how terrible of a son he is for not visiting more often when he goes to see them once again after all this time away. And then she’ll ask him about settling down and getting married, and he’ll remind her that he doesn’t want a wife and it’s still not legal in Japan for him to have a _husband_ , and she’ll pretend not to hear him—

And suddenly he remembers why he hasn’t visited in so long. Still, he should at least visit his dad.

As they head towards the train station to head back to Tokyo, Kageyama walks silently next to him. He’s sulking, clearly avoiding looking at Hajime and not making any type of conversation.  Hajime glances at him, brushes his elbow against Kageyama’s. “What’s up with you?”

Rather than respond, Kageyama pulls his arm back and steps away from Hajime.

“I told Oikawa off,” Hajime says.

He thinks it best he doesn’t mention that he admitted that he used to be in love with Oikawa in the process. Telling Kageyama that would likely just make this worse, and it doesn’t matter that he said it; it’s in the past. Maybe now he’ll finally be able to get past all the weird anger and hurt he’s been holding onto for nine years. Part of Hajime still feels like he’s walking on air, finally getting something so heavy off his chest.

Kageyama’s eyes flash at him, glaring. It’s not a question when he says, “Why.” It feels more like an attack on Hajime, or a defense against him.

Somehow Hajime thinks Kageyama doesn’t want a real answer. He blanches then runs a hand through his hair. He’s not exactly sure what to make of that. He wasn’t simply defending Kageyama in telling Oikawa off, he was defending his own right to not be harassed by someone who believes he’s entitled to Hajime’s time and attention for no good reason.

But, maybe he should have stopped to think how pulling Oikawa aside might look to Kageyama. The thought hits Hajime like a train: he’s been selfish.

“I’m not your middle school kohai anymore,” Kageyama says.

For a moment, Hajime says nothing. He decides there’s not much he can say, besides: “You’re right,” and “I’m sorry.”

He gets no response— not that he was expecting one— and they walk the rest of the way to the train station in silence.

Hajime wonders what Kageyama would have preferred he do, but he doesn’t want to linger for too long on the topic of Oikawa Tooru— the topic he’s been trying to get out of his head since an envelope showed up with Oikawa’s name above the return address; the topic he’s been trying to get out of his head since Oikawa ditched him in third year— so he says nothing. He doesn’t ask Kageyama what he should have done.

It’s not like he can go back and fix it anyway.

Normally, Hajime doesn’t mind silence; he really doesn’t. But the strain of this silence is too obvious to ignore.

Kageyama deliberately keeps out of Hajime’s personal space as they find seats next to each other on the train.  He says nothing for the entirety of the ride, and Hajime makes no attempts to prompt him into otherwise.

As the train rushes inbound towards the city the scenery outside increasingly brightens, even as the time turns just past midnight. More people wait at each platform. Even a few years ago, Hajime thinks it didn’t seem so overwhelmingly congested out on the edges of the city.

Advertisements for different products and businesses hang above the train windows. One such advertisement shows a picture of someone’s cornea and a neon blue diagram. It claims there’s a surgery for eye implants. _Leave your contacts behind!_ It says, _No longer worry about dry eye._

The contacts themselves are bad enough. Hajime went through a phase in college where he refused to wear them. He only started wearing them constantly once he had to focus more on networking, and making a good impression for grad school purposes. And even then it was for networking and making a good impression to find a job. He kept wearing them to make his and Sawamura’s business become lucrative.

Still, at the back of Hajime’s mind, it comforts him to know that maybe someday he’ll be able to take them off and never think about ratings again. He doesn’t know whether he could actually go through with it. Even if he couldn’t see ratings, he knows they’re still there. That’s why the whole exercise in college was futile.  

Next to the surgery ad hangs ads for a type of strawberry gummy candy, a “star rating” coach, and a new hotel opening up near Tokyo’s financial district, which might be appealing to businessmen visiting for conferences and meetings, but only if they have over 4.0 stars.

When they make it through the door of the apartment, after what was one of the longest hours of Hajime’s life, Hajime watches silently as Kageyama walks towards the couch and flops onto it.

Hajime wishes he were better with words. He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, from changing into sweatpants to brushing his teeth, and then walks back to the living room, where Kageyama still stays on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says again.

“I could have told him off myself,” Kageyama says. “If I wanted to.”

“I know,” Hajime says, rather than admit what really happened during Hanamaki’s party.

All of what happened was about Oikawa. Because whenever Oikawa Tooru is involved, when is it not about him? Hajime’s sure that all the attention from fans and the press has done nothing to help his former best friend’s ego. Oikawa was never the type to surround himself with Yes Men intentionally, but it’s possible that’s how things turned out anyway. (If that’s not how it turned out, someone would have told him not to come to Hajime for physical therapy.)

Kageyama doesn’t make any effort to move from the couch. Hajime doesn’t know how to fix this, except maybe to just leave him alone for the night. And maybe if Hajime sleeps on it, he’ll figure out some way to make it up to Kageyama by morning.

“Good night,” he says.

Kageyama says nothing, and Hajime flips the living light switch off on his way back to the bedroom.

Falling asleep, alone in bed for the first time in days, proves difficult. It’s been years since Hajime shared a bed before Kageyama, and he’s alarmed at how used to sharing he managed to get in such a short period of time.  Hajime wonders whether it’s just the skin-to-skin contact, whether it’s just the weight on the mattress of another person— any person— that he craves.

Hajime rubs at his face with his palms, then brings his blankets closer to his chin.  

Tonight is not the night to dwell on that. Not after everything that’s happened.

The next morning he wakes up early to his alarm, and gets out of bed to take a steaming hot shower until his skin turns red. The apartment stays dark with the shades drawn, and Hajime feels like he’s hiding in the shadows after he flips the light switch in the bathroom off and steps into the dark hallway. He goes through the remainder of his morning routine on autopilot.

On his way out the door, he glances over to the couch.

Kageyama’s gone.

 

⟡

 

“I haven’t seen or heard from him since Saturday night,” Hajime says.

The shades of Sawamura’s office are cracked open, letting in enough natural light that Hajime can see, but the room is otherwise dark. Hajime’s somewhat thankful for that this early in the morning, but if he were do this in his own office he’d definitely fall asleep before his first appointment of the day.

He hasn’t been getting much sleep this week. Tomorrow will be Saturday again and it’ll have been an entire week since Kageyama just up and disappeared without a trace. The entire week has got Hajime’s nerves on edge. Every tiny sound inside his empty apartment has him thinking that perhaps Kageyama’s returned, but so far he’s been wrong each time.

He wonders if there’s more he could have said after the party. Not that it matters now.

Sawamura pauses in eating his breakfast, a single peach, at his desk and glances up, fruit still held between the fingertips of each hand.

“Well,” Sawamura starts, carefully. He pauses, and then says, “Is that really so unusual? His life since high school seems to have been rather— ” He pauses again, and Hajime can tell he’s searching for the least offensive word to use. “—transient.”

Hajime sighs. “I’m just worried. I woke up Sunday and he was just gone. What if something happened?”

“Or,” Sawamura says, “maybe he just felt like leaving.”

“Thanks to me he probably did feel like leaving.”

Sawamura shakes his head. “Iwaizumi, you’re being too harsh on yourself. Kageyama is an adult, I’m sure he can take care of himself. He’s managed to make it this far.”

“You weren’t there,” Hajime says. “I really think it is my fault. I shouldn’t have asked him to go to Hanamaki’s party. I should have known something like that would happen there.”

“Okay, now you’re really being unfair,” Sawamura says. “No one can predict something like that. And honestly I think it’s a good thing you told Oikawa off. He’s clearly been stressing you out. Though I’ll admit, I don’t like to be losing the business of professional athletes.”

Hajime groans. He feels even more selfish now than before. Not only has his telling Oikawa to leave him alone for good made Kageyama disappear, it’s also a major blow to the practice’s clientele whether Hajime wants to admit it or not. Moriyama hasn’t called the office yet, though, so maybe Oikawa hasn’t found a new PT.

“If either of us were to ruin this business, it makes sense that it would be me,” Hajime says.

Sawamura laughs. “Yeah, right. You’re one of the most level-headed, financially responsible guys I’ve ever met. We wouldn’t be business partners otherwise.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately my past with Oikawa isn’t something I can go back and undo.”

Sawamura asks, “Do you really wish you could?”

Hajime’s fairly sure it’s a rhetorical exercise. He’s not sure how to answer. His past consists countless fond memories with Oikawa. But nine years of silence, and one fated lunch period in third year ruining it all… it’s difficult for Hajime to let the good overshadow all of that.

“I don’t know,” he says.

Hajime flops down in one of the chairs; it faces one of the walls of Sawamura’s office, and he finds himself staring at pictures of the Karasuno team from Sawamura’s third year, engagement pictures, and a couple of family photos of Sawamura with his parents. Each of the pictures is framed, and Sawamura’s office seems a lot more like a home than Hajime’s own which sits nearly bare-walled and sparsely decorated (if having a single indoor plant can even count as decoration).

In fact, Sawamura’s office seems more like a home than Hajime’s apartment. Hajime finds himself vaguely wondering what’s keeping him in Tokyo— in Japan— at all.  He rarely visits his parents in Miyagi, he’s not engaged or even in a serious long-term relationship, and even his friendships aren’t as close as they used to be.

What’s to stop Hajime from getting on the next flight out of the country?

That thought unsettles him and he forces himself to focus on his conversation with Sawamura, who’s currently staring at Hajime like he’s grown an extra limb.

“Sorry, what?” Hajime asks.

Sawamura shakes his head. “I asked if you ever considered that he might be coming to you with genuine intentions.”

“Intention doesn’t matter,” Hajime says on reflex.

“Doesn’t it?” Sawamura replies, and Hajime decides he’s had enough of rhetorical questions.

“No, it doesn’t. Not when the consequences of it are this.” Hajime waves a hand to indicate _everything_ that has happened in the past short weeks since Oikawa has insisted on coming back into Hajime’s life.

Sawamura shrugs. “Well, did Kageyama seem upset at Oikawa or—”

“No,” Hajime says, frowning. “He was definitely upset with me. At least, I’m pretty sure he was upset with me.”

“So then—”

“I only have myself to blame— I know.”

Sawamura doesn’t agree verbally, but he doesn’t disagree either. He simply gives Hajime a _look_ that says Hajime knows the answer to the unspoken questions.

And, truthfully, maybe Hajime does know the answers.

Hajime stands up, ready to be finished with this conversation. “Have a good lunch with Michimiya,” he says before heading down the hall.

Back in his office, he considers the conversation again.

Intention doesn’t matter. Not with Oikawa, whose intentions might even be worse than the outcome of his actions.  

Even as Hajime thinks that, he rules it out as unfair. The Oikawa he was friends with all those years ago might have done petty things on occasion, but he wasn’t ever outright cruel for the sake of it.

And he wants to say that after their last conversation, everything with Oikawa is finally finished. But he’s thought that more than once before. Until he dies without ever hearing from Oikawa Tooru again he doesn’t think he can believe it’s finished for good.

And, truthfully, maybe he doesn’t want to.

 

⟡

 

Returning home, Hajime holds his breath. An empty apartment doesn’t seem very appealing to him right now, but there is a chance that it won’t be empty. He turns the key in the lock and pushes open his door and finds the shades still closed and the lights all off. A heavy sigh escapes him.

He gets straight to making dinner, deciding that it’s best if he occupy his mind rather than dwell on everything that’s gone wrong in the last forty-eight hours.

As the vegetables in his pan start to sizzle, a light knock comes from the front door of his apartment.

“Just a minute!” he calls out, rolling the vegetables onto their other side with a spatula.

When he does get to the door and opens it, he’s met with an intense blue-eyed stare.

“Kageyama,” Hajime says. He steps back and holds the door open.

Kageyama hesitates, fingers pulling at each other, before he finally steps through the threshold and into Hajime’s apartment.  Hajime wants to say that he was worried, but bites it back, the vivid memory of _I’m not your middle school kohai_ fresh in his mind.

Instead he says, “You came back.” And then, unable to help himself, he asks, “Where were you?”

Rather than respond, Kageyama shrugs. He walks into the apartment, doesn’t even spare Hajime a glance. Kageyama shows so little that Hajime has a hard time reading him on a good day.

“Are you hungry?” Hajime asks.

Kageyama nods and then Hajime finds himself pulling a drinking glass out of the cabinet next to the sink and placing it in front of Kageyama at the kitchen counter, and then reaching into the fridge to grab the almost finished carton of milk.

Hajime goes back to cooking, deciding dinner is more pertinent than figuring out what’s going on with Kageyama. Hajime wishes, to some extent, that he could fix everything. And he’s glad that Kageyama’s back, that he’s okay. But Hajime can’t help but still feel a little angry. So he eats dinner, sitting next to Kageyama at the counter, waiting for Kageyama to talk, but he doesn’t.

Eventually, after they’ve cleared their plates and sit in the living room, Hajime has to ask again, “Where were you?”

“Out,” Kageyama says.

“Out,” Hajime repeats, because clearly that isn’t really an answer. It’s such a frustrating non-answer than Hajime finds himself running a palm over his mouth, as if he can physically stop the words he may regret.

He stands up and says, “I need to go.”

And then Hajime leaves Kageyama alone in his own apartment.

Hajime ends up walking to the mailboxes on the first floor of the building with nothing better to do. It’s a decent enough pretense for leaving his apartment as he thinks about this impasse he’s reached with Kageyama.

Hajime wants to help Kageyama, he really does, but things are so complicated now. He doesn’t even know where they stand with each other, and after Kageyama disappeared for almost a whole week, he’s even more conflicted about that. Hajime just wishes that Kageyama would talk to him. How else is he supposed to help?

Why does Hajime even want to help so adamantly?

He wants to go outside, maybe get some fresh air and walk around for a bit, but it’s raining. Hajime sighs to himself before pretending to check his mail for the second time in a three minute span— earning him a judgmental look from a middle-aged woman with a 3.7 rating— and then he heads back up to the fifth floor of the building.

The door to his apartment swings open, and when he steps inside, Kageyama hasn’t moved from where he was sitting at the counter before.

“Hi,” he says, toneless.

Hajime blinks, and stays by the door for a minute, trying to study the air around them before moving further into the apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says, “for storming out like that I just—”

“I’m a disappointment,” Kageyama says.

Hajime opens his mouth to protest but he doesn’t get the words out before Kageyama says, “I am. I don’t know how— how to be what you want.”

Hajime runs a hand through his hair. For a moment, he stares at Kageyama, thinking that maybe if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to read between the lines or to see into Kageyama’s thoughts, or something, but none of that happens.

At length, he asks, “What do you mean?”

Kageyama forces an exhale out, bangs flowing in front of his forehead at the pushed air. “I got a 2.5,” Kageyama says.

“What?” Hajime blinks, knowing for certain, just before he stormed out of the apartment to check his mail twice in three minutes, Kageyama definitely still had a 2.2.

Kageyama presses his lips together and avoids eye contact. “I got a 2.5 on my eighteenth birthday and—” He pauses, shifting uncomfortably “—it’s never been higher than that.”

“You got a 2.5?” Hajime isn’t quite sure what to make of that.  He already knew that Kageyama’s initial rating wasn’t good, but somehow hearing it from Kageyama himself, in Kageyama’s voice, makes it worse.

In the back of his mind, Hajime thinks of Watari telling him how Yahaba treated Kyoutani after he got a 2.0.

Kageyama doesn’t say anything or even look at Hajime.

“Does that—” Hajime pauses, waiting to see if Kageyama will look over at him. When he doesn’t, Hajime crosses around the counter and sits down next to him. He sighs and places a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder. “Does that have anything to do with why you left all of a sudden?”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything for awhile, but he doesn’t shift away from Hajime, so Hajime waits as patiently as he can. This is something; this is more than he’s got from Kageyama this whole time. After weeks of living in the same shitty apartment, after wondering— since talking to Sawamura that first morning— what had really happened to Kageyama all those years ago, Kageyama is finally opening up. Even just a little.

It feels like an entire mountain of progress.

“I don’t want you to help me,” Kageyama says at last. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I’m not,” Hajime says.

“You don’t get it,” Kageyama says. He jerks his shoulder out of Hajime’s grasp and stands up, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t help me because _this_ is it.” He motions to himself on _this_.

“What are you talking about?” Hajime asks.

“I’m never going to be good enough for you.”

“That’s not—”

“It is true,” Kageyama says, cutting Hajime off.

Hajime isn’t sure what to say except that it’s not true, but he already just tried that. Now, Kageyama looks at him with such an intensity that Hajime isn’t quite sure what to make of it. Hajime thinks that everything is at its last thread, and it’ll all unravel if he says the wrong thing now.

“Why else would you constantly be trying to get me to be better than two stars?”

Hajime gulps, licks his lips. He’s not sure where to start. He himself isn’t entirely sure why he’s been so willing to help Kageyama after not really knowing him for twelve years. After all the things Hajime has been through himself.

“You don’t deserve a 2.2,” Hajime tells him. “I remember thinking back in high school that you might even get scouted straight to pro, forget university teams.”

Kageyama looks away again.

“I don’t know why you got a 2.5 in high school, or why you have a 2.2 now, but it doesn’t matter. You deserve a higher rating— a chance at being happy.”

“Are you happy?” Kageyama asks.

Hajime hesitates, eyes widening. “I—”

“You’re not.”

It’s not a question. Hajime doesn’t try to correct Kageyama because the truth is he isn’t wrong. Hajime _isn’t_ happy. Fuck, he’s not even content. For all the stress that the rating system put him through earlier in life… maintaining life as a four is just as stressful as getting to the fours. It’s almost even more stressful sometimes.

“Kageyama,” Hajime says.

“It’s bullshit,” Kageyama tells him. “And you know it. But you’re trying to fix me anyway.”

“I’m—” Hajime isn’t quite sure how to turn this around.

“I don’t need to be fixed,” Kageyama says at last. “You’re no better than anyone else.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Kageyama says. “The only one who’s seen me as an equal in the last seven years was Oikawa at that fucking party.”

“He was a complete jerk to you. I mean, Kageyama, seriously, he rated you one star out of spite.”

Kageyama flinches, but he mumbles something just loud enough for Hajime to hear: “That spite wasn’t because I’m a two.”

Hajime opens his mouth, but he’s not quite sure what to say so he closes it again. Kageyama’s fixed him with a deadly glare again. After a moment, Hajime stands.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll stop getting involved with your rating.”

Kageyama looks away yet again, but he uncrosses his arms, letting them hang by his sides. That’s something, at least. “Good,” he says.

Hajime steps towards him, and Kageyama’s eyes flicker up at him, but he doesn’t say anything or flinch away.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says, tracing Kageyama’s jaw with his finger. “I’ll do better.” He’ll try at least.

He kisses Kageyama, softly at first. When Kageyama kisses back, Hajime turns the kiss more deliberate and open-mouthed. He brings his hands to Kageyama’s sides, gripping his waist, and he steps forward so that Kageyama’s back presses against the wall and their bodies are flush against one another.

Kageyama’s fingers are soft, tentative. Hajime barely registers that they’re shaking and he pulls away.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kageyama says, looking away from Hajime’s eyes, back to his mouth.

“Do you want to stop?” Hajime asks.

“No,” he says.

Hajime leans in slightly, breathes out through his nose, then says, “Okay.”

Then they’re kissing again. Hajime breaks apart to catch his breath after a few moments, and then kisses up Kageyama’s jaw, down the side of his neck— lips soft and light near Kageyama’s jugular— he stops at the start of the collar of Kageyama’s shirt and glances up at him, fingers tugging lightly at the hem of Kageyama’s black tee-shirt. He’s sure that Kageyama can feel how hard he is against his thigh through the denim fabric.

Kageyama’s eyelashes flutter open and he looks at Hajime before tugging his shirt the rest of the way off.

Hajime pulls his own shirt off soon after. “Come on,” he says, and he grabs Kageyama’s hand and leads him to the bedroom, walking backward nearly the whole way until they reach the door and someone has to open it.

“Is this okay?” Hajime asks as he leads Kageyama to the bed, hands on his waist.

Kageyama hesitates, but nods, and Hajime pulls back.

“You can say no,” Hajime says.

Kageyama squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, “I don’t want to say no.”

“Okay,” Hajime says, “if you’re sure.”

Using a hang to gently push Kageyama onto his bed, Hajime follows in a single movement. Once Kageyama’s on his back, looking up at Hajime with his intense blue eyes, Hajime kneels over him. He has to bend forward to kiss him, hands drifting over his shoulders, collar bones, his chest. He stops his fingers at the waist of Kageyama’s pants

Hajime kisses down the side of Kageyama’s throat, presses his lips against Kageyama’s collarbone. He pauses at Kageyama’s chest, giving Kageyama open-mouthed kisses against each of his nipples, tongue running against them. Kageyama lets out small moans at the contact.

Hajime pauses and looks up at Kageyama, balancing himself on a forearm.

“I’m going to go down on you,” Hajime says. “Is that okay?”

Kageyama lets out a labored exhale. He nods.

Hajime sighs. “What’s wrong?”

“Just do it,” Kageyama says, “I’m not made of glass.”

“Okay,” Hajime says, finding the button of Kageyama’s jeans with his fingers. “Okay.”

He leans forward to kiss Kageyama open-mouthed as the button snaps undone. Hajime doesn’t touch him until his jeans are pulled down, the only thing between he and Kageyama a single layer of fabric. Kageyama’s almost fully hard.

Hajime presses the palms of his hands against Kageyama’s hips, fingers curling around them.  He kisses Kageyama’s skin just above the elastic of his underwear. Kageyama tries to shift, impatiently, but Hajime tightens his hold. Pausing, he blinks, eyelashes brushing against Kageyama’s skin, and breathes out lightly.

He mouths over Kageyama’s cock, and Kageyama whimpers, hips struggling against Hajime’s hands, but he doesn’t let Kageyama win out. Not yet. One of Kageyama’s hands comes to rest on the back of Hajime’s head, fingers curling into his hair.

“Iwaizumi, please,” Kageyama says.

“What is it?” Hajime asks, lifting his head, fingers curling inside the elastic band of Kageyama’s underwear. “Tell me what you want.”

Kageyama brings his other hand to Hajime’s face, fingertips tracing over his cheek, his lips. “Your mouth,” Kageyama says.

Hajime pushes the elastic of Kageyama’s underwear down until they hit the pushed back jeans. Kageyama’s fully hard and leaking precome. The salty, bitter taste hits his tongue when he wraps his lips around the head. Kageyama gasps at the contact, and Hajime sinks his mouth lower, taking more of Kageyama in his mouth before pulling back and popping his mouth off entirely.

“Is that what you want?” Hajime asks, looking up.

Kageyama nods, eyes closed, hands curled into the sheets on Hajime’s bed. He shifts under Hajime, lifting his hips slightly, Hajime leaves his grip on them loose and complies, looking back down and lightly tracing the tip of his tongue against the slit.

Kageyama inhales, sharp, and Hajime does it again. This time his tongue doesn’t leave; he uses it to pull back the foreskin slightly and then laves it around the head. Kageyama moans through lips pursed tightly together.  Then Hajime brings his lips down again.

Hajime’s own dick is painfully hard against his own underwear, his own pants, but that can wait. Kageyama left for a week because of him, and they fought nearly first thing after Kageyama’s return because of him, and— if there’s anything Hajime knows he won’t mess up it’s sucking dick.

Sure he’s only done it for Kageyama one other time before this, but Hajime got his fair share of practice during college. There are some skills you never forget.

He relaxes his tongue, his throat, takes Kageyama deeper. He holds Kageyama against the bed as firm as he can without being rough, without leaving bruises on the skin of his hips.

Hajime listens to Kageyama above him, trying to restrain himself from being too loud— like for some reason Hajime might not want that— Hajime tries to be as encouraging as he can, but humming around Kageyama’s cock is really the best he can do with his mouth occupied like this.

It’s then that Kageyama finally gives in and stops trying to hold back entirely, lips breaking apart, moaning loudly into the empty apartment. Hajime vaguely thinks that they didn’t close the bedroom door— not that it matters when it he lives alone— and moans around Kageyama’s cock again, palming at his own through his pants.

It takes a few minutes, and then Kageyama comes without warning. Hajime gags a bit, not having expected it, but doesn’t pull his mouth away until he’s sure it’s over.

He rubs at his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up.  He opens his mouth to ask whether Kageyama’s okay, but thinks better of that and closes it again. Instead he runs a hand through his hair and falls back against the pillow where Kageyama’s head rests.

He almost wants to ask the question that had been plaguing him before Kageyama disappeared. Now isn’t the time. And after everything, Hajime isn’t quite sure whether there ever will be a time for that. A time for them.

He settles for kissing Kageyama’s lips and saying, “I’m glad you came back.”

 

⟡

 

Saturday morning gets a late start. It’s afternoon that Hajime finally wakes up next to Kageyama in his bed. He rubs at his forehead as he thinks about the previous night, and then decides he needs to get up to shower.  He brings his clothes to change in the bathroom, and when he’s finished he finds himself sitting in the living, staring at the paint-chipped wall once again.

He flips on the TV, and he goes to change it from the news. He flips through the channels to find something that isn’t mind-numbing to watch when a grainy photograph on the screen catches his eye.  

It’s a woman he hasn’t seen in person in nine years.  She has a tight black dress on and high heels, and she’s sitting alone on a train.  

The garish hot pink logo sits in the bottom right corner of the view. This is a celebrity gossip channel, but that’s definitely a picture of Kudo Akane on the screen.

“Here at Five Star Gossip we have a lot of trustworthy sources close to Kudo and Oikawa,” says a big-nosed woman when the picture of Kudo minimizes and two women and one man— all with heavily styled hair and overdone makeup— sit behind a desk on the screen.  “Oikawa Tooru is just one of those guys that you love to love. I find it hard to believe that he’s at fault here.”

“Now, our sources technically haven’t yet confirmed or denied the reason for said breakup,” the man says. “I also find it hard to believe that Oikawa Tooru could be at fault. I mean, the guy has a 4.9 rating, has he ever messed up in his entire life?”

That last statement misses the mark so wildly, that Hajime feels the misplaced urge to laugh. He presses his lips together. He should change the channel, he really should. But the word _breakup_ rings against his ears, and Hajime can’t help but wonder whether their conversation outside Matsukawa’s apartment on Saturday has anything to do with the alleged breakup.

“I mean,” says one woman, “we have a picture of Kudo Akane on a train back to Miyagi— where she and Oikawa grew up—”

 _Where she and Oikawa_ _grew up,_ Hajime thinks bitterly. He’s surprised at his own reaction to the statement.  They _did_ both grow up in Miyagi, that’s just a fact. But the way these strangers talk about it makes it sound like they’d known each other their whole lives. Like Oikawa had no life of his own before her…  

 _Or she before him_ , Hajime reminds himself to add to his thoughts.

The man continues speaking, undeterred by the thoughts of a random viewer who he doesn’t even know is watching. “— and she’s all dressed up. She’s not wearing her engagement ring, either. I think there’s two options: either they got in a fight while on a date and Kudo got away at the first possible chance _or_ she’s headed to go on a date with someone else.”

“A date with someone else? All the way in Miyagi? I mean, really, who could compete with Oikawa Tooru? He’s got a 4.9 star rating, great hair, an athlete’s body, the charm of a fairytale prince, and did I mention he’s got a 4.9 star rating?” The second woman says all of this like it’s got anything to do with Oikawa as a person. Like he isn’t just as human as anyone else, as human as _Kageyama 2.2_.

“It’s possible,” the man says, “that she fell in love with another man before he was Oikawa 4.9. They’ve been together since they were eighteen, remember? After they both got their ratings.”

“Are you insinuating that the whole thing is a sham?”  The big-nosed woman chimes in,  
“That Kudo’s using Oikawa Tooru for his rating?”

Hajime _knows_ that that isn’t the case. He _knows_ that if anything like that is true, it’s the other way around. Somehow that makes him angry on Kudo’s behalf. It’s Oikawa that these tabloidists should be blaming the— the _whatever it is_ (Breakup? Potential breakup?)— on. Not _Kudo 4.7_. Hajime remembers even now the eighteen-year-old girl at the arcade, including Hajime in conversation even as his own best friend ignored him.

“Maybe it just got to be too much,” the other woman says. “I mean being engaged to a guy like Oikawa Tooru, who has hordes of single women following his every move on the timeline, has got to be stressful.”

Hajime grits his teeth, remembering a group of girls outside the volleyball club’s gym at Aoba Josai.

He’s had enough and he hits the power button on the remote. Kudo and Oikawa may not even have fought— it’s ridiculous for Hajime to think that an admission of feelings from a lifetime ago could break up a couple of nine years— this could just be some sort of publicity stunt. The media is clearly reaching even if they _did_ breakup.

It’s not like anyone is going to speculate that Oikawa might actually be at fault. Not _Oikawa 4.9_. Not Oikawa with great hair and athlete’s body.

Hajime feels grimy, like he needs another shower just for watching that.

He gets up from the couch and walks to the bedroom, twisting the doorknob before lightly pushing the door. Kageyama’s awake; he looks at his phone with one eye while he keeps the other squashed against the pillow.

“Come on,” Hajime says, “I’m starving, and I don’t feel like cooking anything. Let’s go to that ramen shop down the street or something.”

Kageyama blinks, slides his gaze over to Hajime. “Do they put eggs in the ramen?”

“I’m sure they do,” Hajime says.

That works. Kageyama sits up straight swings his legs over the side of the bed and starts pacing around Hajime’s room looking for his clothes.

“Just wear stuff from my closet,” Hajime offers, stepping through the disorganization— well, disorganization by his standards— of his own bedroom to find Kageyama a shirt out of his closet.  He tosses a striped button-up at him, and then finds a clean pair of jeans, shoved towards the back.

Kageyama dresses quickly, and then they’re headed out the front door of the apartment. Hajime ignores the ringing of his cell phone from his pocket. Whoever it is can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway while writing this chapter i texted karinne to mention that i was dropping the most iwakage heavy chapter right before oiks' birthday and i said, and i quote: "fuck it." so. 
> 
> if it wasnt clear: this ch took place during the same timeframe as the interlude. 
> 
> also if anyone has been keeping tabs on me this fic does take place in summer? (last ch was 6 months away from hanamaki's birthday which is early january soo....) so there WILL be an oikawa birthday chapter but i probably wont get to it until the end of august, if that. i'm guessing it would take place in the chapter after next at the earliest writing-wise.
> 
> * * *
> 
> thanks to karinne ([armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks)) for reading this over for me, like always.


	9. VII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “I realized it nine years ago. How he felt about you, I mean,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was maybe the hardest chapter for me to write

The air sticks to Hajime’s skin; the gross humidity of the city suffocates him in the mid-afternoon. Generally, Hajime only likes to go outside in the late evening during the summers if he can help it. Tokyo’s air isn’t as clean as the air in Miyagi, and that makes the city heat far worse than it is in the mountains.

He’ll get to feel the fresh mountain air soon though.

For some reason, the decision to go home made him feel like he needed to talk to someone. And really only one person understands his hesitations about visiting his parents after months of limited contact. Except for the occasional phone call with his dad, during which Hajime always makes excuses to hang up when his dad insists on putting his mother on the phone, he hasn’t talked to his parents at all.

What they know about him is limited too. He’s working as a physical therapist, he works with Sawamura who’s also from Miyagi and played volleyball at Karasuno— yes, Dad, the team that beat Seijoh in third year— he sees Matsukawa on occasion, and he lives by himself. (Technically, that’s still true. Kageyama’s name isn’t on the lease. He doesn’t pay rent. It’s Hajime’s apartment.)

Only one person knows what he went through with his parents when he came out to them in college. How his mother immediately went into denial and still hasn’t emerged. How his father at first was angry and confused but has slowly started to come around.

So, now he’s talking with Matsukawa.

“Yeah,” he says into his phone, “I told him in a note that I was leaving for a couple days. I would have asked him to come with me, but—”

“But meeting parents is kind of a big deal for someone that you’re not even really dating?”

Hajime shrugs, then remembers that Matsukawa can’t see him. “Well, Miyagi is his home too,” Hajime says. “And he wouldn’t be meeting my parents, my mother’s in denial as it is. Can you imagine what she’d think if I brought Kageyama back and introduced him as—” What would he introduce _Kageyama 2.2_ as? “Not that that’s his fault,”  he says, "Honestly, I’m hoping I can just ignore her for my dad’s sake.”

“Why are you even going back?” Matsukawa asks. “I’ve been telling you since college to just go No Contact with your mom.”

Hajime sighs into the phone. “It’s hard,” he says.  

Because it is hard. He’s not quite sure whether she’s intolerant, or if she’s truly incapable of understanding. No one really talks about being gay. His father hasn’t exactly tell her to lay off hounding him to find a good woman to settle down with last time he visited, but he doesn’t participate in it either.

And the last few years, there have been quiet moments that make him think his dad’s at least trying.

‘Like I told you,” he says to Matsukawa, “I’m not doing this for her.”

“What do you think Kageyama’s going to do when he sees the note and realizes you just up and left for two days.”

“Well, I didn’t just up and leave. I left a note. And that’s really all he can ask of me after…”

He leaves the sentence hanging, but he’s sure Matsukawa knows exactly what he’s getting at. Hajime’s glad Kageyama came back, but the wondering, the worrying, and the not knowing— Hajime wonders if Kageyama even has any idea the kind of stress Hajime went through— he’s not quite sure he’s ready to forgive and forget.

Rather than dwell on the past week he changes the subject. “How’s Hanamaki doing? I was hoping to see him sometime before he leaves to go back to America next weekend.”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll do something together, just the three of us. Oikawa invited us to his huge birthday celebration.”

“Did he,” Hajime says. That’s not really a name he wants to hear right now.

“Oh, yeah. I thought for sure— Did he not invite you?”

He didn’t. And Hajime’s a little surprised himself, really, that Oikawa might actually get that there’s nothing Hajime wants from or with him. “I wouldn’t have gone if he did,” he says, “Maybe he’s starting to get that, finally.”

“I’m not sure whether we’re going to go,” Matsukawa says, “It seems like it’s just going to be the national team, really. Not exactly my crowd.”

“What? A lowly back-end website developer like yourself isn’t into hanging out with professional sports players?”

“I’m not sure they’d have much in common with me besides the sport. And I don’t think Makki’s very happy about the whole way his surprise party went down. Though, it was a lot less tense after Oikawa left.”

Hajime laughs. “Except Yahaba pouting in the corner and acting like he got stood up.”

Matsukawa laughs into the phone.  “Besides, it might be a little awkward seeing him now. You know? With all the rumours surrounding his and Kudo’s break up.”

“The rumors are just speculation,” Hajime says, “people apparently don’t have enough shit in their own lives to worry about.”

“Not sensing any judgment here at all,” Matsukawa says, dryly.

Hajime laughs.

A loud whistle rings out, and he sees the passenger train approaching Tokyo station. He grips his weekend bag in his left hand, despite the fact that he’ll be gone until Monday. He had to rearrange some appointments and cash in a favor with Sawamura to make this work. He hopes the visit back home is worth it.

“So then,” Matsukawa says, “are you and Kageyama like… officially dating? Because, I gotta say, I’m still surprised you brought him along to Makki’s party. Not surprised about how Oikawa reacted, but…”

“I don't know,” Hajime admits. “I thought— but then—  I’m more confused now than I was before. Honestly, I don’t even know what I want at this point, nevermind trying to figure out what he wants.”

Matsukawa stays quiet, and Hajime isn’t sure whether he’s simply thinking of a response or whether he has nothing to say. It doesn't matter, because the train doors open and Hajime says, “Okay, I have to go.”

“Okay,” Matsukawa says, “we’ll make plans with Makki for later this week.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, “bye.” He ends the call.

The train, black metal rusting, screeches against the rails as it slows to a stop. Hajime hasn’t taken a train to Miyagi in a while. He’s surprised the train isn’t pristine. High fours always required the best accomodations possible. But then, not many high fours take _public transportation_. They drive their own cars or have people hired to drive them. Driving isn’t exactly practical or necessary in the city, but Hajime sees them anyway.

He boards the train behind an elderly couple, stuffs his bag under his seat, and promptly falls asleep.

 

✧

 

“It’s about time you came to visit,” Hajime’s mother says as he slams the trunk of his father’s car over his bag of clothes and toiletries.

“Mom,” he says. He leans into his palms against the burning metal and closes his eyes, willing himself to be patient. It’s only a few days. It’s only a few days. _It’s only a few days._  That’s going to be his mantra until he gets on the train to head back to Tokyo, he’s sure of it.

He ends up driving the car, his mother in the passenger’s seat.

“Where’s Dad?” he asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Your father’s always busy lately. Ah, and he has to get surgery soon.”

“Surgery? Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?” Hajime asks as they pull out of the Sendai station parking lot.

“You’re busy with work.” She glances at him and he looks away. “Too busy for your aging parents, it seems.”

Hajime doesn’t take the bait, instead he chooses to ignore his mother as he drives back to their house. He follows the roads out of Sendai, to the long country roads with fewer offshoots, more farmland in the flat areas. He had forgotten what driving felt like in Miyagi. The roads through the mountains twist and turn, and with only a guard rail to stop them if something went wrong on the steep decline, Hajime finds himself gripping the steering wheel, despite having done this drive enough times to know that nothing bad will come of it.

The tense silence throughout the car ride has Hajime reconsidering. Perhaps he should just stay one night, rather than two. His mother doesn’t even seem happy he’s come to visit; the first thing she did was try to make him feel guilty for not visiting more often.

When they finally pull into the driveway of Hajime’s childhood home, he thinks an eternity has passed while in the car.  Maybe he really is an awful son. His parents are nearing sixty, and he’s nearing thirty, and still he can’t bring himself to visit more often, or even to call.

The front door isn’t locked, and he pushes his way through, leaving the door open behind him for his mother, before heading up to his childhood bedroom. The bed is still there, but most of his decorations from high school and earlier are gone. His parents have turned it into a guest room, though what guests they have over is pretty unclear.

Footsteps behind him distract him from the nostalgic memories of his old room, and he turns to face his mother. She stands in his doorway, looking at him.

“Next time,” his mother says, “at least bring along your girlfriend. You must have someone you’re thinking of marrying.”

He wonders if she thinks before she speaks. “Mom,” he says, “if you keep talking to me like that I may never come again.”

“You shouldn’t talk that way to your mother,” she says.

Hajime holds his tongue even though he wants to tell her that _she_ shouldn’t talk that way to her son.  He’s been done with the one-way respect thing for awhile now.

“You know,” he says, “I didn’t limit contact with you guys because of _Dad_.”  Then he shuts the door, not caring that she has to step out of the way.

He hates that this is what becomes of him at home; that he feels like a teenager all over again. He didn’t come out to his parents until college and— well, he hadn’t expected them to get it right away, but he hadn’t expected his mother to never come around. He’s done trying to appease her.

Coming home was a mistake.

He turns back to the bed and forces himself to flop down on it. It’s rare that he finds himself idly scrolling through the timeline. Tonight when he does he sees a picture of a park, one that he and Oikawa used to play volleyball at when they were younger. Before Aoba Johsai.

One that he could walk to from here, if he wanted. It’s only a few minutes out.

Even though it’s been a week since he last heard from Oikawa, a week since he told Oikawa the truth about his feelings back in high school, he’s not quite sure he’s ready to think too nostalgically about their past. There’s a lot he’s worked to ignore and keep bottled up, a lot he’s not ready to dredge up.

The caption is similar to his own feelings— the ones he’s trying to ignore just seeing it in a picture on his phone—  pleasantly nostalgic. He scrolls up with his thumb.

 _Kudo Akane 4.7_ _posted 49 minutes ago_.

The words on the screen sink into his head and Hajime remembers on the television this morning, they were talking about Kudo leaving Tokyo, about her getting on a train to Miyagi last night.

Hajime wonders, had Oikawa not ditched them entirely, what sort of presence Kudo would have in his life today. Hajime’s not sure he’d ever have gotten over Oikawa if he hadn’t been forced to do so by getting pushed out of his life. But he thinks that eventually he would have been happy for him. And maybe he’d have even grown to consider Kudo a close friend as well.

Hajime shakes his head, it’s worthless to dwell on what could have been.

 

✧

 

Hajime allows himself to be dragged out of the house for dinner. As disappointed in him as his mother pretends to be, she sure seems invested in showing off her physical therapist son— she wasn’t always so proud of him career-wise. He distinctly remembers a few remarks to the tune of:   _Why not just become a_ real _doctor?_

Still, he has a Masters, which is more than most of the kids who stayed in Miyagi, or those who returned. He’s no doctor, but he’s still got a career of his own; if that makes his parents happy, then Hajime is content to appease them. As long as it means he gets one dinner where he’s not being harrassed for not visiting more often and not having found a woman to settle down with.

Part of him still hopes his mother will give up entirely on trying to convince him to find a woman his age to marry. She’s constantly hounding about that, and about having grandkids, but as much as she thinks she’s struggled having a gay son— she’s not the one who’s gay in a society that’s obsessed with perfection. Where that perfection is defined as heterosexual. Where men and women suspected of not being heterosexual are almost always left out of the top.

Really, Hajime knows that he only made it to the fours at all because his sexuality is inconspicuous unless people see him with a guy he’s dating. And he hasn’t dated many. The fact that he’s still not sure whether Kageyama belongs in that category makes him feel nauseous. It passes quickly, as he distracts himself with a menu.

Dinner goes about as well as expected, with Hajime ignoring his mother as best he can, and Hajime’s father pretending that things aren’t so tense they may snap at any moment. Hajime’s guilt eats away at him for the latter.

It isn’t until they return home afterward, Hajime tired and ready to go to bed— or go back to Tokyo, which sounds like a much better idea after even just one day with his mother—  that he actually gets a moment alone with his dad.

Hajime sits on a sofa, leaning forward elbows against his knees.  His father sits back in an armchair. His hair is more white than Hajime remembers.

Only one lamp shines in the living room, light reflecting off the soft rose walls. Hajime’s shadow falls against the wall to his right. The walls didn’t used to be this color, not when he lived here, anyway. He’s not sure the first time he noticed the change. A year ago? Two?

“Hajime,” his father starts. “Your mother—”

“I don’t want to talk about Mom,” Hajime interrupts. “I almost didn’t come because I didn’t want to see her. But—”

“She only wants you to be happy. She doesn’t think you can do that by choosing not to have a family of your own.”

Hajime rubs his face, sighs into his hands, and then drops them between his knees. “It’s not really my choice, Dad. I’m not going to pretend to be someone I not.”

Look at where that got Oikawa. 4.9, and still so transparently dissatisfied.  

His father watches him. Hajime feels out of place. He hasn’t lived here for years, but small mountain town is all his parents have; it’s their whole life. It was his grandparents’ whole lives too. But Hajime, Matsukawa, Sawamura, Hanamaki, Kageyama, Oikawa— all the people who aren’t here anymore; these are towns for leaving.

Hajime’s father, _Iwaizumi 3.8_ , hadn’t ever even been to Tokyo before he helped Hajime move out.  His parents are getting older. Hajime thinks, not for the first time, there’ll never be a time when he lives close to them again. Not for the rest of his life.

After a long stretch of silence, his father says, “All _I_  want is for you to have a good life.”

“Dad—” he starts, but his father interrupts.

“So, your business with Sawamura is doing well,” his father says. “I take it you’re happy?”

Hajime’s first thought is that he took on Oikawa Tooru as a client to help their practice’s reputation. That’s not for a discussion with his father. “Yeah,” he says, “I am. I’m really happy.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” his father asks without preamble.

“I don’t know,” Hajime replies, honestly. “It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated about it?”

Hajime isn’t entirely sure that his father wants to be hearing this. Hajime tells him anyway. He hasn’t told anyone the whole story— not Matsukawa, not Sawamura— and Hajime’s not so sure anymore that even he knows the whole story.

He leaves out Oikawa’s showing up at Hanamaki’s party. He leaves out Kageyama leaving for a week and turning up again without explanation. Hajime’s sure Sawamura was wrong; Kageyama isn’t a stray animal. He’s a human, and humans can explain themselves when they need to. Strays come and go, but Hajime never expected Kageyama’s behavior to be so—

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Hajime says, “by helping him. But he just— he told me I was no better than anyone else.”

Hajime’s father nods, as if he could possibly understand the predicament. “Unfortunately,” his father says, “we can never really know what someone else’s thought process is.” There’s a pause, a silence Hajime doesn’t attempt to fill. Then his dad says, “We can’t always help people. They need to want to help themselves, too.”

“Why wouldn’t he want help? Dad, people have treated him so bad because of a stupid number.”

Hajimes dad shrugs. “Again, you may never know that. I suspect, though, perhaps accepting help, in his mind, is admitting the problem is himself.” His dad audibly exhales. “You can’t fix everything for him, Hajime.”

And that’s it. Hajime’s known all along that he couldn’t fix Kageyama’s rating. Maybe his dad is right and Kageyama doesn’t want to be helped. There’s some predictability, Hajime thinks. There’s a pattern Kageyama knows to expect with a rating so low. Maybe he wouldn’t know what to do if Hajime did help him.

Something still bothers Hajime, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re getting surgery?”

His father sighs, and then he says. “It’s minor. There shouldn’t be any complications. My joints just aren’t what they used to be.”

“She made it sound like—”

“Like I was dying?” his father shakes his head. “She feels abandoned by her son. I hate that she’s using my problems to guilt you into seeing the both of us though. I’d rather you just visit because you want to.”

“That’s not fair,” Hajime says. “She doesn’t get to feel abandoned by _me_ when she’s the one who pushed me away.”

His father shrugs. “I’m not blaming you. You did what you had to. She can be a little… blind… to how her actions pushed you away from her.”

“I’ve told her exactly how,” Hajime says.

Hajime’s father remains silent. This isn’t a subject he wants to fight about, not tonight anyway. He doesn’t want to hear his father take his mother’s side. Then he may really never come back.

Still, he finds himself speaking. “I know you’re trying, Dad. But she just wants me to be the son she wanted. I’m just the son she has.”

“She’s trying too,” his dad says.

Hajime closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “I wish you would stop making excuses for her.”

“She’s my wife,” his father says.

“And I’m your son,” Hajime replies. He lets out a strained exhale.  “Good night, Dad.” He stands up and heads towards the kitchen, towards the hallway, to his old bedroom.

 

✧

 

In Miyagi he doesn’t get to escape the heat, but it doesn’t hang so heavily in the countryside. It’s morning, earlier than he’s normally up, and he’s already outside, sitting on a bench in that park that Kudo posted a picture of yesterday. It’s cooler than it’s been in the afternoons, even if Hajime still finds himself on the wrong side of warm.

Somewhere in the past he hears Oikawa’s voice— young and light— going on about how much better he’s getting at receives, and doesn’t Iwa-chan want to challenge him? Hajime sighs, leaning back against the splintered wood, and he thinks he hears his voice, younger and ready to follow Oikawa anywhere.

He forgot how quiet Miyagi was in the mornings. There’s no constant sound of traffic, of car-horns, of unintelligible chatter.  Birds chirp— one bird keeps intermittently screeching— and a breeze coming down off the mountains rustles the leaves. It’s peaceful.

Hajime remembers why he misses it, sometimes. Why maybe he actually wouldn’t have minded had he and Sawamura decided to build their practice in Sendai.

There’s a wasp nest in the distance, built against an old tree he remembers climbing the entirety of to spite Oikawa for telling him he probably couldn’t.  Hajime laughs at the memory, despite himself.

He hears the distance sound of a jogger’s footsteps, and then:  “Iwaizumi-san!”

Hajime startles and make a quarter turn without standing up, arm hanging over the back of the park bench.  He blinks twice. Kudo Akane stands behind him, sweat beading her forehead, hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her light blue tank top has a large sweat stain in the center of her chest. She’s holding one earbud away from her ear.

“Kudo-san,” he says, as the circle around her face fades into view, _Kudo 4.7_.  “It’s been awhile.”

She nods and lets out a sigh. “Since Seijoh,” she says.  She takes two heavy breaths then points to the bench.

Hajime moves to let her sit.

“How have you been?” she asks, unscrewing the top of her hard plastic water bottle.

“I’ve been okay,” he says, vaguely. “I just came back to visit my parents for a couple of days. It’s been awhile.”

She gulps her water and nods as she talks. When she’s done, she wipes the back of her hand on her mouth and then says, “Oh, I know. I think the last time I home was like six months ago.”

Hajime pushes breath through his nose.

“What?” she asks, lips quirking up in an amused expression.

He shakes his head. “Nothing it’s just— I still think of it as home, too.”  He pauses. “How are you?” he asks, to be polite. Though, he thinks it’s probably the wrong question with all the public rumours speculating about the state of her engagement.

She doesn’t seem bothered by the question, though. She shrugs. “I’ve been okay, all things considered.”

“All things?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. He probably shouldn’t be asking.

She shakes her head, takes another gulp of water. “Well, I haven’t really talked about it with anyone. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it in too much detail, but— the wedding’s off anyway.”

Hajime nods, slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, even though he’s not quite sure he is.

“You’re probably the last person who wants to hear about that, though,” she says. “But…” She stops short, shakes her head. “Nevermind.”

Hajime glances sideways at her. “If you need to talk to someone,” he says, “it’s fine. I mean, you probably have your friends to—”

Kudo rolls her eyes. “My _friends_ —” she says the word a bit disdainfully, “— are either all in love with Oikawa themselves— or who they think he is, but _you_ know what I mean by that, I think— or will be totally set on destroying him.”  She lets out a harsh laugh. “I’m upset but I don’t want to ruin the entire—” she gestures with her hand “— life he’s built for himself. I still want him to be happy, you know?”

Suddenly, Hajime does feel sorry about their wedding being called off. Hajime’s not so sure he would be that mature in her position.

She shakes her head. “It’s funny,” she says. She smiles a bit at Hajime, but she doesn’t look happy. “Your name came up.”

Hajime pulls his eyebrows together. “My name?”

Kudo presses her lips together, nods slowly, eyebrows lifted. “Yeah,” she says, “your name.”

Hajime remembers a conversation outside Matsukawa’s apartment. “I’m sorry,” he says, and this time he really is.

“Why would you be sorry? It’s not like you had any idea—” she shakes her head. “Well, you guys haven’t even talked or seen each other since high school. But he still talks about you like all the time. Actually, he never stopped.”

Hajime doesn’t think pointing out that Oikawa had attempted to push his way back into Hajime’s life after the wedding invitations were sent out is something that Kudo wants to hear. Only one word comes out of his mouth: “Oh.”

Kudo shrugs. “I should have known.”

“Should have known?” Hajime asks.

Kudo nods, leans back into the wooden bench. Hajime shifts as well, and the wood creaks under their combined weight. Or maybe it’s just Hajime’s weight. He has to look away from her for a moment, he distracts himself by watching the grass wave in the breeze.

“I had this feeling,” she says, “back in high school. Whenever I suggested hanging out with you or setting you up with one of my friends he always got really cagey about it. It didn’t take me too long to figure out that he wanted to keep you to himself.”

Hajime laughs, bitterly. “Yeah, well, he certainly had a funny way of showing it after—” he stops himself.

“After I came along?” Kudo asks.

Hajime shakes his head. “I didn’t mean…. I don’t— I never blamed you for that.”

“I know you didn’t,” she says. “You certainly were cold to him, though. He endlessly talked about how he was planning to apologize for months after you guys had that big fight. I guess he never did it though.”

Hajime sucks in a breath, remembers a cold visit to his house during a college break.

“Actually,” he says, “I think maybe I didn’t let him.”

Kudo nods. “Ah. That would explain it.” She pauses, leans forward, elbows against her thighs, looking off toward the horizon. “At one point he talked about you so much less. But your name always came up every so often still. Like he wouldn’t talk about you for a month or so, and then we’d go somewhere together and he’d say something ridiculous. Like, last winter we went skiing in the Alps, and we’re sitting in the ski lodge drinking hot chocolate by the window, and out of nowhere he says, ‘Iwa-chan would have loved skiing.’”

Actually, Hajime _has_ been skiing in Hokkaido, and he did enjoy it, despite his general dislike of winter and its other sports like hockey. He laughs anyway. “So he talks about me like I’m dead,” he says.

“Or like he’s dead to you,” Kudo says.

“Well…” Hajime says. He can’t really deny it.

“I told him that inviting you to the wedding was a bad idea,” she says. “Well, actually I told him that you wouldn’t come and probably would think he’s just rubbing it in your face that he’s getting married— which, honestly I don’t think is far off from what it was— and he said, something about you being his best friend. I felt like I had to remind him you hadn’t talked to him since high school, but clearly he didn’t pay any attention to that.”

Hajime remembers the wedding invitation, unresponded to, sitting with his junk mail. He remembers meaning to throw it out every day and never actually doing it. He’s talking to the woman Oikawa was supposed to _marry_ in less than a month. And it’s only now that he realizes, maybe he did want Oikawa back in his life. Maybe a part of him will always want that.

“I kind of resent you,” Kudo says. “I’m trying to not take it out on you, though. He’s the one I’m mad at.”

“You resent me?”

“I realized it nine years ago. How he felt about you, I mean,” she says, “I should have just broke it off. I didn’t think he’d still— after you stopped talking to him so long ago.” She shakes her head. “I thought... Well, I thought that he at least loved me, too.”

“I thought you said that you broke it off,” Hajime says.

Kudo rolls her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I’m still mad at him for that, too. I mean, God, he tells me—” She pauses, sucks her teeth. She tries again, and Hajime notices the subtle shaking of her voice, “He told me he’s never actually been in love with me, and I think part of him was still hoping I’d marry him anyway.”

“He what?”

“Told me he’s never been in love with me? Or hoped I’d still marry him after?”

Hajime scrunches his nose. “Both are—”

“Unbelievable? I’m aware.” She shakes her head, sighs. “I should finish my run, I’ve dumped enough complaints on you. I’m starting to get mad thinking about it, and trust me, for both our sakes, it’s better if we just leave it there.”

“Right, well,” Hajime’s not quite sure what to say. “Maybe I’ll see you around Tokyo?”

Kudo grins, leans in. “Not if I can help it.” Then she laughs and stands up. “Have a nice weekend with your parents, Iwaizumi-san.”  She swipes through her phone and puts one earbud back in her ear. “Oh, and, you should call him… on his birthday.”

Hajime’s not quite sure how to feel about Oikawa’s ex-fiancée telling him that (she thinks) Oikawa’s in love with him, and maybe always has been,  just two days after their— now confirmed— breakup. And he heard it in her voice for a moment, how heartbroken she really was over it.

He understands, for a moment, what made her a _4.7._  He thinks she deserves it.

 

✧

 

Hajime leaves the park shortly after his talk with Kudo.  He feels he’s in a bit of a trance after the whole thing. Kudo broke up with Oikawa, partly because of Hajime, less than a week after Hajime told Oikawa he was once in love with him.

That can’t be a coincidence, can it?

Still, she didn’t seem to know about all the ways Oikawa has tried to squeeze into Hajime’s life recently.  He tries to piece together their conversation, to figure out if he should blame himself for their break up.

He’s not sure. But he does come to one conclusion: It had been selfish to think that finally admitting his past feelings was a good idea.

He has to pass through the kitchen to get to his bedroom— or the guest room, as they’re calling it now— he hears his mother’s voice and the voice of another woman he recognizes. He thinks he’s had enough of the women in Oikawa’s life for one day, though.

“Hajime-kun!” Oikawa’s mother greets him.

His own mother smiles, like she’s proud of herself for having her over. Hajime thinks she knows exactly what she’s doing. He doubts that either of them are fully aware of Oikawa’s break-up with Kudo yet. While the rumors have made their rounds, unless they’ve heard it from Oikawa himself, they’ll assume he’s the sun. His own mother was after him for years to be more like Oikawa.

He wonders if she’d still think that if she knew what he’s done to Kudo.

He lets himself be hugged, and he greets Oikawa’s mother. This is always awkward, and she’s sure that Oikawa has had to deal with similar situations on his end. Hajime’s mother knows too much about Oikawa to have not seen him herself at least once or twice a year.

“Ah, I heard how well your physical therapy business is going,” She says. “Tooru was thrilled when he got to have you on his team.”

“You’re working with Tooru-kun?” Hajime’s mom asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Well, Hajime and his mother were never as close as the Oikawa’s. And talking to his mother about the guy he used to be in love with— when she won’t even admit to herself that he’s gay— is about as far down on his list of things he’d ever do as taking a bath in animal feces.

“I’m not working with him, Mom,” Hajime says. “He’s just my client.”

“Tooru told me you guys were getting lunch together a couple weeks ago,” Oikawa’s mom continues, undeterred. “It’s so nice that you guys are finally friends again.”

Hajime has a few options here. He thinks the one that will cause him the least amount of awkward conversation is just to play along. “Yeah, it’s uh—” Hajime says, “good.” He’s not even convinced by his own voice.

Both women seem content to ignore that fact.

“He was always so fond of you,” Oikawa’s mother tells him. “I always thought you guys would be friends for life.”

Hajime’s entire feelings towards that statement are confused. He’s on edge from his conversation with Kudo.  Oikawa was always so _fond_ of him. What does that even mean? Why does he care what it means when he hasn’t been in love with Oikawa since his first year of college?

His mother interrupts his thoughts. “Tooru-kun was always so handsome. It’s no wonder he has such a beautiful woman he’s marrying soon.”

“Yes,” Oikawa’s mother says, “Tooru’s so excited about the wedding.”

Hajime can’t tell whether she’s lying, or whether she really doesn’t know about there being no wedding now. Has she not seen Kudo around Miyagi this weekend? Hajime isn’t quite sure what to think of that. Oikawa did always hate admitting difficult things. He probably hasn’t told his mother. Or maybe he has, and she’s too embarrassed to tell Hajime’s mother.

Hajime gets that. There’s a lot of things he’d never want to tell his mother.

Even though Hajime has spent so much time feeling so negatively about his once best friend, he knows it’s not his place to say anything.

It’s better to change the subject, probably. “What are you guys making?”

Hajime’s mother smiles. “Agedashi tofu.”

He’s not sure whether this is a bribe or a peace offering. He remembers his dad saying _She’s trying too._ He sighs. “Ah.”

Agedashi tofu can’t make up for pretending her son will eventually want to settle down with a wife, despite making himself clear over and over again that he won’t. Agedashi tofu can’t make up for the months after coming out that he spent wondering if maybe he was an awful son. (Hajime notes in the back of his mind that Matsukawa deserves an award for everything he did for Hajime back then.)

“I should,” he starts. Pauses, thinking up an excuse. “I need to shower.”  Which is an excuse, but a true one. The walk back from the park made him sweat, if only because of the heat of the sun beating down on his back the whole time. Hajime doesn’t think that there’s anything he can do about it.

“You and Tooru should come back together sometime,” Oikawa’s mother says as he reaches the hallway at the end of the kitchen. “We can all have dinner together just like when you were little.”

Hajime pauses, glances at the floor, sighs. Then he turns his head to glance at her. “I’ll think about it,” Hajime says.

Hajime doesn’t want to think about it. But, like all things related to Oikawa, pretending it’s not there won’t make it true. Now that the idea’s been planted in his head, he knows he’ll start imagining it. And it’s stupid how badly he wants it.

Still, he doesn’t think it will happen.

 

✧

 

The ride from Sendai to Tokyo takes longer than it was supposed to. A train in front of them broke down, and it took an hour for the entire line to start back up, so they arrive in Tokyo at nine o’clock rather than eight o’clock.

Hajime hops off the train and starts walking in the direction of his apartment. He chooses not to take a subway or a cab— his legs could use the movement after so long sitting.

He unlocks his phone, finds the contact he’s looking for, and hits call.

“You get in?” Sawamura asks

Hajime yawns. “Yeah,” he says, “Finally. Well, almost. I’m walking from the station.”

Sawamura chuckles. “How was it? As bad as you expected?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Well, I haven’t decided to go No Contact just yet. I am getting tired of this though. If I ever do find someone to settle down with— like she’s hounding me about— I may have to pull the plug.”

“Who knows,” Sawamura says, “maybe you and Kuroo will fall in love at the wedding.”

“Weddings _are_ very romantic,” Hajime says. “But— isn’t Kuroo seeing someone?”

Sawamura scoffs. “Yeah, that’s not going to last. I’d offer you Asahi again, but I think he and Noya are finally back together. He’s been weird about it, though.”

“Weird?”

“Like he gets nervous whenever Suga or I ask him about it.”

“Azumane-san? Nervous?” Hajime asks dryly. He kicks a pebble on the sidewalk and it skips onto the road. A large truck drives by.

Sawamura laughs. “I think he’s just worried about what we think of all this back-and-forth with them. Asahi worries too much, though.  He panics, starts saying stuff like Noya deserves better, breaks up with him, and spends the next weeks miserable until Noya convinces him to get back together. Honestly, it’s a little tiring to watch.”

“Huh,” Hajime says, “I’m surprised Nishinoya is that patient. He seems so—”

Sawamura chuckles. “Oh, I don’t think it’s patience. Persistence, maybe. If he sat there waiting around for Asahi to figure his shit out they’d still be broken up since that first time, and Asahi would still be miserable. And who would have to hear about it constantly?”

“You?” Hajime guesses.

“Me,” Sawamura confirms. “I just hope this time it’s for good. It’s pretty obvious they’re meant for each other.”

“Hmm,” Hajime says.

“Anything interesting happening back home?” Sawamura asks. “Besides the usual family drama, I mean.”

“I ran into Kudo Akane,” Hajime says, turning a corner. The headlights of oncoming traffic momentarily blind him. “We talked for awhile.”

“Really?” Sawamura asks. “So, then—”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, predicting the question. “The rumors are true. They broke up.”

“Kuroo mentioned something vague about Oikawa being more moody than usual,” Sawamura says. “That must be the cause of it.”

“Right,” Hajime says. He elects to not tell the story about Hanamaki’s party.

Sawamura goes on to tell Hajime about something that happened in the office while he was out. Hajime listens, happy for the distraction from his other problems. He reaches his front door when Sawamura is about halfway through it.

Sawamura’s voice fades into background noise. Hajime can’t focus. Someone stands in front of his door. And even before they turn and notice him, Hajime knows who it is.

“Sawamura,” he interrupts, his own voice foreign to his ears.  The person turns at the sound of Hajime’s voice echoing the in hallway.  “I have to go.”

He hangs up and his phone idly still in hand, even as he drops it from his ear.  He blinks as his eyes meet a chocolate brown gaze. His breath catches in his throat. He’s not sure whether this timing is impeccable or incorrigible, inevitable or coincidence.

Lips twitch upward slightly, juxtaposed with melancholy eyes. Hajime hears a hesitant “Iwa-chan,” just as the white circle blinks to life.

 _Oikawa 4.4_ stands at Hajime’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all like cliffhangers right? 
> 
> this chapter is unbeta'd bc i got really impatient, and after writing the whole thing i didnt want anything else to do with it vis a vis editing so its a little unpolished but w/e fic in general has done a nosedive (pun intended) on my priority list. 
> 
> this is about the halfway point, i think.


	10. VIII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "You’re not in love with me— You’re spiraling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

“Oikawa.” Hajime’s voice echoes off the high walls, interrupting the constant hum of the ceiling lights. He pauses to take a deep breath, to ground himself in reality. “What are you doing here?”

Oikawa worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Hajime watches him, waiting for him to say something, to explain himself. Hajime wants to ask about his rating. He wants to ask if Oikawa remembers Hajime saying he never wanted to hear from him again, just over a week ago outside Matsukawa’s apartment. He wants to ask why he stayed with Kudo when he didn’t love her. He wants to ask why Oikawa won’t just leave Hajime alone like he keeps telling him to.

(It’s only because of his visit home, Hajime thinks, that he knows that it’s not truly what he wants.)

“I—” Oikawa starts. Stops. He lifts his hands, fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves, threads pulling away from the seams. “I needed to see you, I—” He bites his lip, looks away from Hajime’s gaze. “I have to tell you something.”

 _I kind of resent you,_ Kudo said.

“Well,” Hajime says, frowning. “I’m here now.”

“Can I come in?” Oikawa asks.

 _I realized it nine years ago_ , she said.

Hajime sighs.  He glances at the door, the brass _509_ on it. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says.

“Because of him?” Oikawa asks, pulling Hajime’s gaze back to him with the shift in his tone.

Hajime says nothing. Now that the shock of his presence, of his new rating, has passed, Hajime notes smaller things: Oikawa’s lips press tightly together; his eyes narrow. The corners of his eyes are rimmed red, and the skin beneath them is tinted blue. His hair still bounces atop his head as he looks away from Hajime now, but the strands aren’t set in any uniform sense of direction.

“If you want me to go away,” Oikawa says, “just say it, and I’ll leave. I’m tired of fighting this.”

_How he felt about you..._

Hajime’s tired too: tired of holding this grudge, tired of fighting Oikawa’s persistence, tired of pretending there’s nothing he misses between them.

“This?” Hajime asks.

“Losing you,” Oikawa says. “Not having you.”

_I thought that he at least loved me, too._

Hajime opens his mouth but doesn’t manage to get the words out, because Oikawa says, “I _know_ how long it’s been, Iwaizumi. I know it was all my fault. Please, I just—” He exhales through his mouth. “I just want to talk.”

His name, not shortened, throws Hajime. He relents. “Okay,” he says, “you can come in.”

Oikawa’s face barely shifts; his gaze turns away from Hajime once more. Hajime once thought there would never be a day that he couldn’t read Oikawa Tooru; now he thinks he’s not the only one who’s changed in nine years.

Hajime unlocks the door to his apartment, opens it into the dark hallway. Light from the streetlamp leaks through the open window. He flips a light switch, turning on the lights— still not fixed— painting the room in yellow light and an array of gray shadows.

“Wait here,” Hajime says. “You can sit wherever.”

He turns down the small hallway that leads to the bedroom. No light seeps through the cracks beneath the door, and when he opens it the room is empty, his bed a shadowed mess of falling sheets and an untucked comforter. Hajime frowns as he drops his bag of things from the weekend in the corner of the room. Kageyama’s disappeared, but Hajime has more pressing things to deal with right now, so he shuts the door once more before returning to the living room.

Oikawa sits on the couch, so Hajime chooses to sit across the room, turning one of the plain black chairs from the table to face him.

“How long were you waiting for me?” he asks.

Oikawa shrugs. “Not too long, I—” He pauses. “Aka-chan texted me and told me to stay away from the penthouse until she had all of her stuff. And then she called me because I didn’t reply and—”

“She told you she saw me,” Hajime pieces together, “in Miyagi.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, averting his eyes.

Silence passes over them. Hajime watches Oikawa; Oikawa watches the carpet. The air hangs still and tense. When Oikawa finally looks at Hajime, brown eyes pulling away from where they’re trained on the carpet to meet Hajime’s gaze, something clicks. A gear in Hajime’s heart— a rusted one he thought was broken— turns.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says, “for pushing you so hard. I—”

“You’re stubborn,” Hajime finishes, “like you always were.” He lets out a breath through his nose, not quite a laugh. “It’s just like you to apologize for pushing too hard after showing up unannounced.”  Hajime only realizes after the words escape him how fond he sounds.

Oikawa blinks; his eyes widen. “Iwa—” He stops, chest rising as he inhales then falling as he exhales. “Do you really not miss anything we had?”

“I never said that.”

Oikawa leans forward, elbows against his knees, and he narrows his eyes, studying Hajime’s face. “I miss—” Oikawa starts. He pauses, twisting his lips to one side before his face relaxes again. “—everything.”

Hajime sighs, long and heavy, and runs a hand through his hair.  “I know,” he says. “I miss it too.” And admitting this doesn’t feel wrong; it’s much easier than he expected. He misses it. Enough to want it all back, even. He realized that only a few days ago, but there it is.

Hajime can see it in Oikawa’s eyes, his waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn’t come, he asks, “What does that mean?”

“I miss our friendship,” Hajime says. “Part of me wants to get back to it, but it’s not going to happen overnight.” He pauses. “I don’t think we’ll ever be what we were at seventeen, though.”

“Just over a week ago you said you didn’t ever want to hear from me again.”

“And yet here you are,” Hajime says.

“I’m in love with you,” Oikawa blurts, unprompted. He stands up, fingers fidgeting with the hems of shirtsleeves again.

Hajime sighs. “Oikawa.” He forces his voice to remain even. This isn’t where he wanted this conversation to go, even if he guessed that it might since seeing Kudo in Miyagi.

 _He told me he’s never actually been in love with me_ , she said.

Oikawa waits for him to say something else, and when Hajime doesn’t, he says,  “I’ve been in love with you my whole life.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime says, standing up too now. “you just broke up with Kudo, who you were with for almost nine years, and your rating has dropped five points in a single weekend. You’re not in love with me— You’re spiraling.”  

“I reacted badly to my breakup with Aka-chan, and then my _minor_ rating drop got out of hand when I lashed out this weekend, but none of that has anything to do with what I’m saying right now. My feelings for you are real. And you— you love me too, I think.”

Hajime sighs. “I was in love with you when we were eighteen, and maybe our entire lives before that, but it’s in the _past_ , Oikawa. You started dating Kudo, and we didn’t talk for nine years. You don’t get to show up and tell me you’ve been in love with me this whole time. It doesn’t work like that.”

Oikawa makes a broken sound. “Iwa— Hajime, I’m saying I’m _in love_ with you.”

Hajime motions towards the door. “And I’m saying you’re too late.”

 

⟡

 

The sound of a key in the lock to the apartment jolts Hajime awake.  

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, but after his weekend, and after Oikawa showing up and _that_ whole conversation, he supposes he was more drained than he realized.  He still wears the clothes he traveled home in, his skin sticking to the fabric. The light’s still on, and Hajime groans at realizing that. The last thing he needs is the last light-bulb in the fixture to burn out.

Craning his neck he sees Kageyama standing in the doorway. He doesn’t greet Hajime, merely watches him with narrowed blue eyes.

Hajime lets out a sigh, relieved.  “Kageyama,” he says.

“You were gone,” Kageyama tells him.  There’s an unspoken question in his voice; one Hajime doesn’t know how to answer. Not now. His conversation with his dad rushes back to him, things said hitting him full-force. He had forgotten about it, with seeing Kudo, seeing Oikawa’s mom, seeing Oikawa.

A pit forms in his stomach. Guilt, he thinks.

“I left a note,” Hajime replies, “I told you I’d be back.”

Kageyama says nothing.

Hajime glances at the digital clock on the stove. It reads _01:13_.  His stomach growls. “Have you eaten?” he asks Kageyama. He’s too tired to fight right now, too tired to try to make a decision about what this thing they have is.

He’s not too tired to eat.

Kageyama shakes his head, eyes falling to the floor.

“Okay,” Hajime says, “I’ll make something.”

He swings his legs over the side of the couch, feet landing on the plush carpet. He rubs at his face before standing up, fingers catching on crust in his eyes. He stretches his arms behind him as he walks toward the kitchen, then he opens the fridge and pulls out a container of leftovers— a mixture of vegetables, rice, and fish— then rummages through the bottom cabinets for a pan.

The clanging of metal against metal assault his ears. He’s going to regret having eaten so late tomorrow morning, he’s going to regret having stayed up so late in general. At best, he’ll show up tired to work. More likely he’ll show up miserable.

He warms the leftovers on the stovetop then divides the food into two plates before placing them on the counter. He fills a glass with milk and places it in front of one of the plates. Kageyama sits, looking uncomfortable.

Something has shifted. Whether between them or inside himself Hajime isn’t sure.

“What did you do this weekend?” Hajime tries.

Kageyama shrugs one shoulder in response. This shouldn’t frustrate Hajime, this vague interaction, this lack of speech. It does. He blames the conversation with his father. _We can’t always help people, they have to want to help themselves, too_. Hajime’s not quite sure what to do with that advice— or lack of advice— from his father, but it rings in his memory now.

“Where were you when I got back?” Hajime asks, and he doesn’t mean it to sound accusatory or prying, but maybe it is.

“Out,” Kageyama says.

Hajime sighs, exasperated with Kageyama.

“I got a job,” he says.

Hajime blinks, green eyes sliding to look at Kageyama who takes a large gulp from his glass of milk.

“A job,” Hajime repeats.

Kageyama nods.

“Doing what?” Hajime asks, “Where?”

Kageyama shifts in the stool he sits on, pushing vegetables in his plate around with his chopsticks.  Hajime feels a bit hypocritical wondering, but not many places would hire someone with a 2.2 rating, even for service jobs. When he and Sawamura were looking for people to help run the front desk the cutoff was a 3.0.

He sighs.  “Sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry. I’m doing it again.”

“Stocking,” Kageyama says, ignoring his comment. “At a warehouse.”

Hajime blinks, tilts his head. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried that the people who hired Kageyama might be taking advantage of him. But he doesn’t want to sound patronizing. Not after their last fight. Not after just finding out that Kageyama really _is_ trying.

“Oh,” he says, “good for you.” He shifts, knees turning towards Kageyama, and smiles. “I’m happy for you,” he says, reaching out, fingers touching Kageyama’s arm near his shoulder.

Kageyama frowns, chews on a carrot, then looks toward the oven rather than at Hajime. “It’s not special,” he says.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Hajime replies. “As long as it’s something you’re proud of.”

Kageyama shrugs again.

Hajime supposes that’s the most he’ll get out of him. He drains his glass of water, condensation slick under his fingers, and then stands up, picking up his place with his left hand. After washing his plate and leaving it in the drying rack he turns.

Kageyama’s eyes watch something distant, something beyond Hajime and his apartment. Hajime wants to ask him what’s on his mind, but he already suspects there won’t be a response.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces.

Blinking, Kageyama looks up at Hajime’s face from across the counter. He says nothing. Hajime still doesn’t know— still wants to know—  what he was thinking about. He wonders if maybe he watches Kageyama’s eyes for long enough he’ll figure it out.

But by now, it’s well past 1:30, and he has work in the morning, bright and early.

 

⟡

 

“Nope. No. You’re not sitting in your office all through lunch again.”

Hajime’s chopsticks pause halfway to his mouth, green eyes flitting up to meet Sawamura’s gaze. He stands in the doorway of Hajime’s office, lights turning his skin a sallow shade. Crossing his arms over his chest, he sends Hajime a judgmental look, one eyebrow quirking upward as his eyes glance meaningfully at Hajime’s microwaved lunch.

He says, “You’re coming to lunch with Yui and me.”

Hajime sighs, drops his chopsticks into the Tupperware container, and motions to it with one hand. “I already warmed this up, though.”

“Don’t care,” Sawamura says, “you and I haven’t been to lunch together in _weeks_. Now that the wedding is finally closer, and most of the planning stuff is out of the way on my part, we gotta get back into our routine.”

“I don’t want to impose on you guys,” Hajime replies.

“You wouldn’t be imposing. Honestly, Yui misses seeing you around to the point that I wonder whether she’d be marrying you if you were into women, so _come on_. Get up from that desk of yours.”

Hajime sighs, taps the pads of his fingers on the desk one a time, then nods. He pushes his chair back, palms digging against the edge of the gloss-finished, wood desk.

He and Sawamura head out of the office, strides in sync, and walk down to a cafe on the corner of the street. Through its windows, behind the glare of the noon sun, Hajime can make out a rather large crowd at the counter.

Once inside, they find Michimiya sitting at a table in the center of the room— Hajime prefers sitting near the walls or the windows— one leg crossed over the other, foot bouncing as she sips on water in a clear, lidded plastic cup through a baby pink bendy straw.

“Ah! Iwaizumi, it’s so good to see you! I’ve been pestering Daichi to bring you along for the last couple of weeks, but—”

“— Yui—” Daichi interjects, tone warning.

She ignores him, doesn’t even pause to acknowledge him. “—he says you’ve been distracted with some stuff?” She raises her eyebrows. “Are you seeing someone in secret?”

“Yui,” Daichi says, “I told you that Hajime would tell me if he were seeing someone.”

Michimiya shrugs. “Actually what you told me was he’d tell you if he had someone he was bringing to the wedding,” she says, “that’s why I asked if it was a secret.”

“It’s fine,” Hajime says.

“See,” Michimiya says, looking at Sawamura, “I was just asking a question.”

“Yeah,” Sawamura says, “a pretty personal one.” He looks at Hajime. “You can ignore her if you want.”

Hajime shakes his head. “No, it’s really fine, I wasn’t just saying that. Why would you think I’m seeing someone in secret though?”

“You haven’t been hanging out with Daichi as much,” she replies.

“You guys are planning a wedding,” Hajime says. “I’d hate to take him away from you for too long.”

Michimiya dives into a description about how stressful picking out napkins and name cards for the reception has been. Something about arguing with her mom. She finishes with, “And of course Daichi’s no help with stuff like that.”

“Really?” Hajime asks, eyebrows raising. “I would have thought Sawamura was a natural at picking between napkin fabrics.”

Sawamura rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “Enough about our stuff. What’s going on with you? How was your trip home? You hung up kind of abruptly last night.”

Hajime blanches for a split second. He recovers, but he thinks that maybe the fact he totally forgot that he had been on the phone with Sawamura when he arrived back at his apartment last night is an answer in itself. _What’s going on with you?_ Hajime avoids that question in favor of the second.

“Like I said,” Hajime says, shrugging, “I haven’t decided to go No Contact yet.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Sawamura says, “but if you want to you can.”

“Maybe,” Hajime says. “But first, let’s go order before your Michimiya’s food comes out and we’re making her wait too long.”

Michimiya laughs, sets her cup down on the table in front of her, fingers wrapped around the base of it. “Don’t worry about me,” she says. “I’ll just ditch you guys when I need to.”

“You know what,” Sawamura says, deadpan, “if it were legal I’d just marry Iwaizumi.”

“Oh is that the only thing holding you back?” Iwaizumi asks.

Michimiya laughs. “It probably is. You should hear how he talks about you at home.”

Sawamura walks toward the counter to order, rolling his eyes.

Later, after they’ve eaten, he lets on how much he’s really noticed about the shifts that Hajime has been dealing with. Hajime wonders whether there might be a reason Sawamura didn’t want to talk about this in front of Michimiya; whether he thinks Hajime might find the topic too sensitive to talk openly about around someone he doesn’t know too well. (Sure, he knows Michimiya, but not nearly as well as he knows Sawamura.)

“I meant what I said, you know,” Sawamura begins.

At first, Hajime says nothing. The sun beats down on them, reflection off the windows of the Tokyo skyscrapers from all angles. Hajime sweats and wishes he’d brought an extra shirt to change into.

When Sawamura draws the conclusion that he won’t get anything out of Hajime, he continues. “You’ve been acting unlike yourself ever since you got that call from the volleyball team. I can’t help but feel sort of responsible.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hajime says.

“I knew that you and Oikawa’s friendship ended on bad terms— or, well, it wasn’t a hard conclusion to draw anyway— and when Moriyama asked for your number I did assume it was for him. I just thought that maybe enough time had passed that a professional relationship between the two of you wouldn’t be _terrible._ And, really, I didn’t expect him to not take no for an answer.”

“If it hadn’t been you giving her my number,” Hajime says, “he would have found another way. Just like he figured out where I lived somehow so he could send me a wedding invitation. He probably would have just looked up the address of our offices online and shown up out of the blue demanding to be seen.”

Sawamura blinks.

Hajime realizes too late his tone let on too much.

“Did something happen?” Sawamura asks.

Hajime pushes a derisive breath out his nose. “Of course something happened,” he says, “It’s Oikawa.”

At that, Sawamura simply sighs. He asks no more questions as they reach the doors to their building and Hajime offers nothing else. Somehow it doesn’t feel right, to tell someone else everything that happened.

 

⟡

 

The week speeds past. Tuesday turns into Wednesday turns into Thursday turns into Friday.

Hajime opens the oven door and reaches inside with a fork to test the fish he’s baking when the front door to the apartment slams open with a loud _bang!_  He jumps, heart pounding, only to be greeted with: “Iwaizumi-sama!”

“You idiots almost made me burn myself,” he says.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki both smirk at him, a terrifying view, reminiscent of their days at Aoba Johsai.  Hajime regrets inviting them both over for dinner, and he says, “You know, I wonder why I didn’t just let our friendship die.”

“Oh, come on,” Matsukawa says, eyebrows raising, “you and I both know you’d have no one else to complain to about Oikawa if we weren’t friends anymore.”

Hajime rolls his eyes.

“What’s this about Oikawa?” Hanamaki asks. “I for one still can’t believe he completely ruined my party. I love messy drama as much as the next person, but it was my party it was supposed to be _my_ drama.”

“Oh, yeah?” It’s not a question when Hajime says, “And what drama is that exactly.”

Hanamaki steps over to Hajime, leans down and pinches his cheek. “ _You_ don’t call me enough. Issei still calls me twice a week. And what have you—”

“ _Issei_ ,” Hajime says, meaningfully, “doesn’t sleep at night because he thinks he’s still a college student. _I_ have to work full weeks.”

Hanamaki frowns, “Okay, Dad.” He sighs, walking over to the living room and falling dramatically onto Hajime’s sofa. “I guess I’ll just rot in hell, then.”

“How long have you been in America? Can you please take your shoes off?”

“Okay, Dad,” Hanamaki says again, pulling his sneakers off with his hands and walking back toward the front door to put them down.

“Is it just me,” Hajime says, “or has he gotten even more insufferable.”

“He’s becoming more and more like Oikawa,” Matsukawa says, nodding. “Except, Oikawa wouldn’t be doing this ironically. I don’t know what they’ve done to him in America. I suspect it has something to do with the way their ratings system works.”

“Isn’t it the same?” Hajime asks.

“Yes and no,” Hanamaki says, returning. “It’s the same five stars but the things that get people stars are strange. New York and Boston? Don’t talk to someone, don’t make eye contact, don’t waste their time, _five stars._  Other places it's the opposite. ”

“You’ve been all over the place, huh?” Matsukawa says.

Hanamaki shrugs, “Just the coasts. Nowhere between the Mississippi or the Rockies.”

This means nothing to Hajime, but he doesn’t care enough to ask for a clarification, just pretends he understands. “Yeah,” he says, “anyway. So you guys decided not to go to Oikawa’s party tonight?”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue. “Nah. Didn't you hear? He canceled it.”

“Iwaizumi wasn’t invited,” Matsukawa says.

Hanamaki pulls his thin eyebrows together, “Why—”

His question cuts off as the bedroom door creaks open, Kageyama’s head poking out of it. Matsukawa and Hanamaki can’t see from where they sit in the living room. Hajime tilts his head, and Kageyama opens the bedroom door fully, exiting to come to the living room.

“Oh,” Hanamaki says when Kageyama steps into view. “That’s right.”

Matsukawa tilts his head, eyes on Kageyama. “Hey,” he says.

Kageyama says nothing.

“Also,” Hanamaki says, “did you know Oikawa’s rating is a 4.4 now? I noticed it on the timeline earlier, when he posted his long-ass message about canceling his party. What the hell is up with that? _Oikawa_ a _4.4_? I feel like I’m witnessing the apocalypse.”

“He canceled his party just today?” Hajime asks, ignoring the comments about Oikawa’s rating.

Matsukawa nods.

“By making a post on the timeline?” Hajime asks again.

Hanamaki pulls out his phone. He walks to the counter then places his phone face up, turning it and then sliding it across to Hajime. “Not just a post,” he says, “a screenshotted phone memo.”

Hajime glances at Kageyama, who sits uncomfortably in a stool near the counter. Feeling guilty, Hajime opens his mouth, but Matsukawa beats him to it. “So, Kageyama—” he starts. Hajime picks up Hanamaki’s phone, tuning out of the conversation.

 

_Dear friends and fans,_

_As most of you know, it’s almost my birthday! Many of you have received invitations to a special event I’ve been planning since forever ago— renting out The Golden Koi for an entire night wasn’t an easy feat— and I’m sure you’ve all been looking forward to attending. Unfortunately, I have made the decision not to go forward with the birthday party._

_There are a lot of hurtful rumors surrounding my break-up with @Kudo Akane and my drop in rating. Yes, the two are connected in a way. I was upset when she broke up with me, but please don’t take it out on her. I know some of my fans have been rating her poorly and what happened between us was not her fault. Our breakup was amicable._

Hajime can’t stop himself from letting out a small scoff. _Amicable_ . Telling the woman you were with for nine years you’ve never loved her doesn’t fall into the realm of _amicable_ , Hajime thinks. But he remembers Kudo saying she didn’t want to ruin the life Oikawa had built for himself. Maybe she agreed to calling their split amicable for the sake of both their reputations.

_No, I’m not spiraling. I’ve been here before—_

When? Hajime doesn’t ever remember Oikawa’s rating dropping, only growing or holding steady.  He also notes Oikawa’s choice to use the term _spiraling_ ; it feels pointed, and it stings for some reason. Hajime knows it shouldn’t, so he ignores the stinging feeling in his chest.

_—Everything will be fine again, soon. I don’t want you guys to worry about little old me._

_However, in light of everything that’s happened, I’ve decided to keep this year’s birthday small. I’m sure you all understand._

_Thank you all for being so great!_

_Tooru_

 

Hajime’s phone vibrates in his pocket against his thigh. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees Sawamura’s number.

Just as he’s about to answer, the oven timer goes off, so Hajime turns that off and takes the food out before sitting down to eat with Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Kageyama. Hajime’s the only one who bothers to sit at the table. Kageyama stays at the counter with Matsukawa, and Hanamaki lays on his stomach on the carpet of the living room.

No one talks while they eat, and as Hajime’s finishing his rice, his phone vibrates again.

“Sawamura,” he answers, “What’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you, Iwaizumi, I know you said you were seeing your old teammates today.”

“It’s fine,” Hajime says, leaning back in his seat.

“I know this is probably way off but—” he pauses, says something away from the phone, and then Hajime hears, “— you didn’t mean Oikawa, right?”

“Of course not,” Hajime says. Then, “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, I’m with Kuroo right now and he’s trying to get ahold of Oikawa, but he’s not answering his phone so he just thought—”

“—I thought he’d do something stupid,” Kuroo says, voice far away from the phone.

“Sorry, again,” Sawamura says, “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah,” Hajime replies, distantly. “See you.”

After he’s hung up he glances up at Matsukawa, at Hanamaki. “I have to go,” he says, standing up, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Before he can think better of it he heads to the front door to slip on his shoes, not hearing the protests and questions from his friends.

 

⟡

 

Hajime has always been one to think before he acts. He doesn’t think now. Not as he gets in a taxi and tells the driver to head to the national volleyball team’s practice gym. Hajime knows where it is— passes by it every day on his way to the catch the subway from work— he doesn't have time to wait for a train, though. If he waits then he’ll have time to think about it and— 

Even now, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror of the cab, he’s thinking about telling the driver to turn around. His shirt sticks to his skin; he hadn’t realized it was raining when he left the apartment, but if he goes back for an umbrella or a raincoat he definitely won’t head back out, and this _isn’t_ a mistake. He told Oikawa he wanted to be friends again.

He doubts that Oikawa’s told anyone where he is if even Kuroo has no idea.

And even Oikawa Tooru who told Kudo Akane he never loved her; even Oikawa Tooru, who abandoned Hajime and broke his heart nine years ago; even Oikawa Tooru, who thought he could just show up at Hajime’s doorstep and tell him he’s been in love with him his entire life; even Oikawa Tooru doesn’t deserve something as shitty as spending his birthday alone.

Hajime didn’t have a glamorous twenty-seventh birthday, but he had Sawamura and Matsukawa and free beers at his favorite bar. The tires of the taxi screech at the vehicle stops, and Hajime quickly pays the driver before stepping out.

The ground is wet with fresh rain, Hajime’s foot splashes in a stream of water. He stops for only a second to shake some of it off and then walks with brisk steps toward the metal doors of the practice gym that he’s passed by so often but never set foot inside.

He pulls open the door— one that says _Staff Only_ in white painted letters— and it opens up to a court.

The hit of a volleyball on wood echoes around the gym. It bounces, then simply rolls until it hits the wall, and rolls back a few centimeters.

Oikawa stands, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Pieces of hair stick to his forehead, beaded with sweat. Hajime watches as he recovers. His shoulders roll back, and one hand comes up to swipe his hair off his face.

He looks exactly like he always did when Hajime found him alone in the gym at Aoba Johsai all those years ago, if a little older and more tired.

“Iwa—” he starts, stops. He closes his mouth, adam's apple shifting as he gulps.

“Your friends are worried about you,” Hajime says, forehead creased between his eyebrows. Hajime smiles, eyebrows relaxing and corners of his lips turning upward. “Happy birthday.”

“Iwaizumi,” he says, voice aloof like he doesn’t want Hajime to know how affected he really is. “What are you doing here?”

Hajime leans over, scoops up the volleyball with one hand then tosses it at Oikawa. “Set for me,” he says.

“You’re all wet,” Oikawa says.

“Thanks for pointing that out. I didn’t notice.”

Oikawa’s lips pull to the side. He’s trying not to smile, Hajime recognizes.

Hajime tilts his head to one side. “Come on,” he says, “I’m not gonna wait here all night. I’ll toss to myself if I have to.”

“How would that even–” Oikawa starts. He pauses, lets out an exhale. “Fine, but if you slip and fall on your ass I’m not helping you up.”

Hajime grins. He steps onto the court.

 

⟡

 

In the locker room, Oikawa throws a white hand towel at him without warning. Hajime manages to catch it before it hits him in the face.

“A little warning?” he says, before using it to pat his face. Between the rain and the sweat, his skin feels clammy.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, sitting next to him on the bench, “I forgot your reflexes have gone to shit in the years you haven’t been playing.”

“Hey,” Hajime says, “I hit all your tosses.”

“I think that has to do more with my setting than your spiking,” Oikawa replies, turning up his nose.

Hajime laughs, light and breathy. His skills were more than a little rusty, but he’s missed this more than he realizes. Volleyball. Oikawa. He’s stayed angry for so long, at some point he forgot what it was like to not be angry. He inhales, lips pulling into a slight frown. He exhales.

“I owe you an apology,” he says.

“Wha—”

“Don’t interrupt me,” he says. “I do. I should have reached out when you invited me to the wedding, rather than assuming the worst about you. I should have talked to you— or at least let you talk— eight years ago when you showed up at my house during winter break.”

“Iwa—”

“I’m not done,” Hajime says. He meets Oikawa’s chocolate brown eyes, filled with questions, with uncertainty. “I’m sorry for blaming it all on you when—” he pauses, shakes his head. “I should have put our friendship before my feelings back then. Maybe it wouldn’t be so fucked up now. We could have—” He pauses. “We could still be friends.”  

Because really, there’s nothing else that could have happened. Even if Hajime had let Oikawa apologize eight years ago, even if he hadn’t been too bitter to stay Oikawa’s friend, he would have moved on still. There was Kudo. For nine years, there was Kudo. And she loved Oikawa. _Loves_ , probably; it hasn’t been that long since their breakup.

Oikawa bites his lip then shifts, looking away from Hajime. “Why did you come here,” he says voice heavy. It sounds like a demand more than a question.

“It’s your birthday,” Hajime says.

Oikawa stands, walks toward a locker and opens it. He pulls out a small cardboard box, then brings it back to the bench.  

“I was going to eat this alone,” he says, “but—”  He sits, this time closer, their thighs almost touching.

It shouldn’t make Hajime’s heartbeat race like he’s eighteen again. Oikawa smells like sweat and deodorant. Hajime probably smells like sweat and the puddles of Tokyo’s sidewalks. He wonders why it’s suddenly difficult to breathe.

Oikawa looks up at him, a drop of water streaming down his cheek and—

Suddenly breathing is the easiest thing in the world again.

The corner of Hajime’s lip pulls upward, and he brings a hand to rest on Oikawa’s face. Oikawa’s eyes avoid Hajime’s gaze as his thumb catches the next tear that falls.

Oikawa’s fingers pull at the corners of the cardboard box. Hajime watches as he looks down at it, only following Oikawa’s gaze when he realizes he’s staring, dropping his hand from Oikawa’s face. There’s a single cupcake inside, covered in a swirl of seafoam-colored frosting.

“It reminded me of Seijoh,” Oikawa says. “The last time I–” He stops short, sucks in a breath. There’s a split second of silence before Oikawa chokes on air, tears falling from his eyes again, streaming faster now.

Hajime exhales. He asks, “What the hell do you have to be crying about on your birthday?” He uses the corner of the towel in his hands to wipe at Oikawa’s eyes.

Oikawa doesn’t answer. He closes the cupcake box, places it next to himself on the bench.  He inhales and exhales, breath shaky. “They’re going to kick me off the team,” he says, finally. “Now that everyone knows about Kudo and me— the rumors were bad enough but— my rating is going to tank and they’re going to kick me off the team.”

Hajime sets the towel in his own lap as his other hand grips the edge of the bench. He lets out a sigh. “They’re not going to kick you off the team,” Hajime says. “You’re the best setter in Japan.”

“Not better than Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, breathing evening out as he wipes the last tears from his face. And he doesn’t sound angry or bitter. Just sad. “He’s better than me in more ways than one, I guess.”

“Oika—”

“Do you love him?” Oikawa asks.

“What?”

“Do you love him?” Oikawa repeats. “Are you in love with him?”

Hajime blinks. “No,” he answers.

Oikawa moves first. Hajime sees it coming; he doesn’t stop it. Oikawa’s lips are soft. Hajime doesn’t even realize he’s kissing Oikawa back until his tongue tastes the salt on Oikawa’s lips. Oikawa’s arms wrap around him. Everything is too hot and not hot enough at the same time. Hajime grips Oikawa’s sides, fingernails digging into the skin below his ribs through his shirt.

Hajime tastes more salt and realizes Oikawa’s crying again. Oikawa doesn’t pull away though, instead, he presses closer.

When they pull away for breath, Hajime blinks. Oikawa blinks, presses his lips together.

Hajime backs up, hands against the bench, pushing himself as far away from Oikawa as possible. “I—” he says, presses his lips together. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again. “I told you I didn’t want this.”

Oikawa gulps. “Well,” he says, tone cold, “you fooled me.”

“I’m sor—”

“Just leave,” Oikawa says. “Please, just leave.”

Hajime stands, opens his mouth, closes it, then turns and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh................. sorry? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> thanks to karinne ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks)) for catching my stupid bitch typos ily.


	11. IX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "What? Did you come here just to tell me once again that you don’t want me in your life?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm never drafting without an outline again

Hajime stands in the dark of the kitchen with no lights on, staring out the window across the apartment, a glass of water paused halfway to his lips.  The power lines sag slightly as a bat lands in the center. Hajime sees the motion and his mind registers it, but he only blinks and takes a sip of his water before he hears a cough from the hallway.

Kageyama stands at the threshold of the kitchen. Hajime hasn’t seen him since he’s returned from the national volleyball team’s practice gym. Truthfully, the first thing Hajime did when he returned was shower to get the residue of sweat and Tokyo’s street puddles off him. He ended up putting on a pair of sweatpants from the bathroom hamper on afterward, reluctant to walk the extra few feet to the bedroom.

He hadn’t even checked to see if Kageyama was here. It’s not that he had forgotten or hadn’t cared— it’s that he doesn’t know where they stand. And Kageyama’s not an idiot. He’s bound to have an opinion on Hajime leaving without a word to find Oikawa.

As their eyes meet, Hajime feels the ground between them parting, the plates shifting further apart. He thinks they were never that close to begin with. There’s still so much Hajime doesn’t know. And before that seemed a minor crack, but now the difference is a canyon. He’s not quite sure how to approach that. He’s no longer sure whether he still has the right to— and he wonders whether he ever did.

Still, he hasn’t come to a decision about what to do. And he can’t approach it until he does.

“You left,” Kageyama says.

This time without an explanation. This time without a note. “I know,” Hajime replies. “Where did—”

“Hanamaki-san and Matsukawa-san left not long after you.”

Hajime blinks, surprised that Kageyama anticipated the question. “I’m sorry,” Hajime says, “I had to—”

He had to what? It seems ridiculous in hindsight. He had to find Oikawa who was alone on his birthday because he thought they could be friends again? If anything Hajime’s made things worse. He had told Oikawa a week ago that he was too late after the impromptu love confession. (But Kageyama doesn’t know about that either, Hajime remembers.) He realizes, perhaps for the first time, that he’s not the only one standing here who doesn’t know things about the person looking back at him.

Kageyama’s eyes cut away from Hajime’s and he steps past him, into the kitchen. Hajime’s not sure if it’s because the lightbulb isn’t on, or the stiff steps Kageyama takes to the fridge, but everything feels unbalanced. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the light inside the fridge as Kageyama pulls out the water pitcher.

“You don’t want me,” Kageyama says.

Hajime blinks. “That’s not true— I want you here. You can stay as long as you need to.”

“No,” Kageyama says. “You don’t want _me_.” Hajime watches him as he turns around to grab a cup out of the cabinet and places it on the counter. He doesn’t turn around when he says, “You went to Oikawa,” and it’s not a question.

There’s a moment of silence, filled by the hum of the open fridge and the chirping of crickets loud enough to hear through the closed windows.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Hajime admits.

Kageyama shuts the refrigerator door, force just short of a slam, and the room goes dark again.  “I think—” he says. He pauses, takes a gulp from his glass of water. The sound of the glass against the countertop breaks the silence. He says, “I think it’s time for me to leave.”

Hajime sighs. “It’s late,” he says, “let’s go to bed.”

Kageyama’s palms push against the countertop and he curls his spine like a cat. “I don’t want to go to bed,” he says.

“Kageyama—”

“I have a job now,” Kageyama says, “I don’t need your pity anymore.”

The words cut Hajime. They're a knife against him, and he's not quite sure how to fix things, with where they're at now. He can't go back in time and change them. He sighs. “It was never pity,” he says. “I never— nothing I did was ever out of pity. I just wanted you to be happy.”

"Happy?" Kageyama asks, "you really think that's possible for me in a world like this? One where ratings are worth more than people? I think we both know that's not possible for _anyone_ never mind anyone below a three."

Hajime sighs. He's not quite sure what to say. "You deserve—"

"To be pitied by you? No, I'm done with this."

"Kag—"

Kageyama slams the water glass against the counter; Hajime flinches surprised when he doesn't hear the shattering of pieces against the stone.

"I'm sorry," Hajime says. He's not sure whether he can say it enough. He's not sure whether he's the only one here that needs to say it. "I'm sorry."

"Why," Kageyama says, "What exactly are you sorry for?"

Hajime presses his lips together. And now he's kind of angry, too.  "I don't know anymore," he says. "I don't know whether it's worth it to fight with you about this when you have just as much to apologize about."

Kageyama scoffs, turns, leans his weight back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.  "What do I have to be sorry for?"

"I don't know exactly what this is between us, and you haven't even tried to help me figure it out. And, on top of that, you've been secretive and acting like a teenager more than an adult," Hajime says.

Kageyama flinches. "You don't need to know everything about me."

Hajime closes his eyes. And he knows this. For a moment he wonders whether he's in the wrong, whether asking Kageyama to at least give him _something_ is asking too much. He knows, after all, some of what Kageyama's been through. He doesn't want to be another shitty person in a line of shitty people. (A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s too late.)

"You disappeared for a week," Hajime says. "I gave you a place to stay. I bought you a new phone. I _tried_ to help you. And I didn't expect anything in return except your trust."

There's something about fighting like this— in the dark of the kitchen, Hajime in just sweatpants, and Kageyama one of Hajime's old over-worn tee-shirts— that breaks his heart.

"But you still took more," Kageyama spits.

"You _gave me_ more," Hajime says. "Willingly."

There's a long silence. Hajime hears the break in Kageyama's breathing, sees the shadows of his hands grab his hair in fists. Hajime's not sure what to do. He wants to reach out, to offer comfort, but he doesn't think it'd be welcome. Not now.

"I'm sorry," Kageyama says, at last. "I'm—" he breaks off in a sharp inhale.

"It's okay," Hajime says, but he makes move to step toward Kageyama. "You—"

"I didn't mean it," he says.

Hajime exhales. "I know." And that's the truth. "It's okay," he says, even though the words still sting like a papercut.

Suddenly, it doesn't matter what they are. Suddenly, he realizes it's over.

 

⟡

 

Hajime drags his feet through Monday. He doesn't even remember much of the weekend after Friday night. He spent most of it in a haze. Even today he hasn’t been his best. He’d gotten his patient’s name wrong twice after reading the correct name from the sheet today. She’d seemed surprised but hadn’t even corrected him, and then he felt like an even bigger idiot when he realized.

But he did it. He made it through the first day of the work week.

"You look like complete shit," Sawamura says as they pass each other in the hallway.

Hajime rolls his eyes. "I look how I feel then."

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Sawamura says. "I figure it’s nothing good, but if you decide you do want to talk about it my office is right down the hall.”

"Nothing good," Hajime repeats. "That's a large underestimate."

"Uh-huh," Sawamura says, eyes watching Hajime expectantly.

Hajime groans. "Don't look at me like that," he says.

"Like what?" Sawamura asks, tone indicative of the fact that he knows the answer.

Hajime rolls his eyes and walks toward his office, hoping to leave Sawamura behind. Sawamura, however, follows. He stands in the doorway of Hajime's office forearm pressed against the molding of the doorway as he leans against it.

"It's been a while since we got drinks after work," he says. "I'm heading out to meet Asahi in a few minutes. You're welcome to join us. That is unless you're too busy thinking of more ways to make your life harder than it has to be."

“I don’t make my life harder than it has to be.”

“Taking on Oikawa as a patient, taking Kageyama into your apartment, meeting up with Oikawa multiple times after claiming you wanted nothing to do with him—”

Sawamura will keep going on and on unless Hajime does something. He sighs. "Fine," he says. "I'll join you guys. But don't you dare make it another one of those high school nostalgia fests. I didn't go to Karasuno."

Sawamura throws his hands up in defeat. "You have my word."

"Good," Hajime says.

Then Sawamura turns and leaves Hajime alone with his folders of patient documents and his own thoughts as he goes to lock up his own office.

It would be nice, Hajime thinks, to have been able to get lost in work today, to use it as a distraction. But he’s only had a few patients. Two of them didn't even come in until after four o'clock because they're high school students who have school and only get out of practice for their sports club because physical therapy was mandated by some specialist.

It’s hard not to remember his own life as a high school athlete when he sees them. Today’s worse than most days, but Hajime thinks that’s because Friday night’s events are still fresh in his mind, even though it feels like an eternity since then.

Sawamura returns to Hajime’s office door. “You ready to head out?”

Hajime glances at his desk, closes the open manila folder and then pushes back in his chair. “Yeah,” he says, standing up. “Let’s go.”

They end up getting a cab to bring them to the bar. Azumane works in a high rise in the Shinagawa district doing some sort of analysis work. Hajime doesn’t really understand it even though it’s been explained to him nearly every time he’s seen Azumane since leaving grad school.

"Iwaizumi-san! It's good to see you. Daichi didn't say you were coming."

Hajime shrugs. "Yeah, it was sort of just sprung on me too."  He pauses, remembers to smile because he's not as close with Azumane as he is with Sawamura. The circle around Azumane’s face fades into view, _Azumane 3.5._  "How are you doing Azumane-san?"

"Good," Azumane says, nodding and tipping his glass beer bottle slightly.

The awkwardness of the encounter is clear on Azumane’s face, and Hajime’s sure it’s just as clear on his own.

Sawamura clears his throat and sits between them. "So," he says, “how’s Noya?”

Azumane shifts. “Fine, I think.”

“You think?” Sawamura asks.

“I—” Azumane starts. He pauses, furrowing his brow. “I may have panicked and broke up with him again. His rating’s a 4.6 all of a sudden, and I’m still just a 3.5.”

Sawamura sighs. “ _Asahi_.”

Azumane shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it even counts as breaking up when he slept over anyway and then made us breakfast and was still at my apartment when I left and insisted on getting a kiss goodbye.”

Hajime snorts, despite himself.

Sawamura raises an unamused eyebrow.

“That just sounds exactly like Noya from the few times I’ve met him,” Hajime says.

Sawamura sighs, but Asahi smiles, looking down at his beer bottle. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“I’m gonna get us a round of drinks,” Sawamura says to Hajime.

Hajime stands up from the table at the same time. “I can pay for my own drinks, Sawamura.”

“I know, but you clearly need this,” Sawamura says. Hajime wants to argue but he knows that look on Sawamura’s face— the ‘ _I’m not taking_ no _for an answer_ ’ look— so he concedes and sits back down, left alone with Azumane.

“While he’s gone,” Azumane says, “I need to get your number or Suga will kill me. We’ve been planning his bachelor party with Kuroo, but we figured since you’re also a groomsman we should get your input.”

Hajime glances in the direction of the bar, where Sawamura leans across the bartop to speak to the bartender. He takes Azumane’s phone and types in his contact information quickly, saves it, and hands the phone back.

“How have you been?” Azumane asks. “Daichi mentioned something about you and Kageyama…”

“Oh,” Hajime says. He rubs at the back of his neck. He’s not quite sure how much he should tell Azumane. “Yeah, I don’t really know where to start with that.”

And he doesn’t have to figure it out, thankfully. Sawamura returns places two pints on the table. A light IPA for himself and a dark stout that he places in front of Hajime.

 

⟡

 

Hajime unscrews the burnt out lightbulbs from the fixture to replace them with the bright LED bulbs he bought at the hardware store on his walk home. He stands on a chair, trying not to shift his weight too much as he screws the new light bulbs in, and then he replaces the cover of the light fixture and hops down, sliding the chair back to the table.

He flips the lightswitch. _Better._ He’s gone so long without proper light in the room he’d nearly forgotten what it looked like. With the brighter light, though, the scuff marks and dents on the walls are more noticeable. He sighs. Maybe it’s not better, after all.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, he pulls it out and answers it after seeing the name.

“What could you possibly want right now?” Hajime asks.

Matsukawa laughs on the other end. “I thought you’d like to know that the apartment building across from mine has new vacancies. It’s way nicer than your shitty ass place.”

“And a much longer commute to work,” Hajime replies.

“You hate your apartment,” Matsukawa reminds him.

“I was just thinking that when you called,” Hajime says. “Are you stalking me?”

“Well,” Matsukawa says, “you’ve been saying for ages you want to get out of that place. And your lease is up at the end of September right? Now’s the perfect time to look. And if you lived across the street I wouldn’t have to go into the middle of the city just to see you.”

Hajime acquiesces. “I’ll think about it.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the line, and Hajime takes the opportunity to look through his fridge for leftovers to heat up.

“So,” Matsukawa says. He doesn’t say anything after that, and it’s unlike him to not just speak his mind.

Hajime exhales, closes the microwave and programs it before hitting start. “What is it?”

“Well,” Matsukawa says. “I mean— Am I allowed to ask about Friday?”

“You’ve never cared about whether you were allowed to ask me something,” Hajime says.  

“Hmm,” Matsukawa says. “Well, something’s clearly up with you. Because you basically ran out of your own apartment without any kind of explanation. And I didn’t hear from you all weekend.” He pauses, and Hajime starts to think about how to explain himself. “Also,” Matsukawa adds, “don’t try to lie to me. I don’t think it was a coincidence that we talked about Oikawa canceling his birthday party and then after a call from your business partner— who has friends on the national volleyball team who are also friends with Oikawa— you just up and left.”

“I went to see him,” Hajime says.

“Well, I know I wasn’t great at figuring out context clues in Japanese Literature in high school, but—”

Hajime rolls his eyes, then remembers Matsukawa can’t see him.  “Well, I’m not really sure that anything else is relevant. I went to see him. Then I came home.”

“Alright don’t tell me what happened,” Matsukawa says, “But Makki’s flight back to America was yesterday, so you should probably at least explain yourself to him since you couldn’t be bothered to even say bye.”

Hajime groans, he had forgotten.

The microwave beeps three times, distracting Hajime from the conversation. He’s hungry enough that food is more important than telling Matsukawa the details of Hajime’s finding Oikawa on Friday Night and the events that happened in the aftermath.

“Hang on,” Hajime says.

He puts his phone down and grabs chopsticks, and a plate to shovel his food onto. Once he’s seated on the couch, food on the coffee table, he picks his phone back up and holds it to his ear with his shoulder.

“Do you care if I eat?” he asks.

“Not if that means you’re going to tell me what’s going on with you. Even if I already know it’s Oikawa-related.”

Hajime chews on a piece of food, allowing himself the time he needs to prepare himself for how to bring up the situation. “I went to the practice gym for the national team. I just— I just knew he’d be there.”

Matsukawa sighs. “After all these years he’s still overworking himself. Maybe he hasn’t changed much.”

“He told me he was in love with me. Before that, I mean. Like—” Hajime pauses. “I guess almost a whole week ago.”

Matsukawa’s silent on the other end and Hajime worries what he might say. But there’s more. And Matsukawa’s known him, known Oikawa, known them both since high school. If there’s anyone he was going to tell, shouldn’t it be the only friendship that’s lasted and grown stronger since back then?

“Well,” Matsukawa finally says, “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

“But that doesn’t matter because I haven’t been in love with him since high school, and then he kissed me on Friday.” There’s a pause. Hajime knows Matsukawa’s waiting for him to say more. Finally, he admits what he’s been thinking since that night, “But, actually, I think it was sort of my fault.”

“He kissed you… but it was your fault?”

Hajime sighs, takes another bite of his food. Once he swallows and takes a sip of his water he says, “I’ve been replaying the whole night in my mind for days now and— and he said— before I left he said, ‘You fooled me.’” Hajime pauses. “I didn’t mean to, but I think I might have led him on.”

“You know,” Matsukawa says, “I’m not sure whether I want to hear the answer to the question I’m about to ask but… what exactly happened when he kissed you?”

Hajime bites his lip, places his chopsticks down on his plate. He exhales, says, “I kissed him back?”

“Why did you say that like you’re asking me. You better know the damn answer because what the _fuck,_ Iwaizumi. You kissed him back?”

Hajime says nothing.

“Let me get this straight. A week ago Oikawa tells you he’s in love with and you politely reject him. Not even a week later, you track him down on his birthday, lead him on _accidentally_ , and then kiss him back?”

“I’m a horrible, horrible person,” Hajime says.

“Maybe,” Matsukawa agrees. “Have you told Kageyama?”

“No, I—” Hajime pauses, lets out a belabored exhale. “We fought after I got back and he hasn’t been back since. I think— Well, whatever that was, I think it’s over.”

“So _after_ all that, you fought with the guy who you’ve been sleeping with for weeks and he left, and you only mention it to me now as an afterthought.” Matsukawa pauses and lets out an exhale loud enough for Hajime to hear. His tone changes when he says, “But you haven’t been in love with Oikawa since you were a teenager, right?”

“I haven’t,” Hajime confirms but he’s not quite sure which of them he’s trying to convince.

“Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says, “you’ve been doing really well for yourself the past couple years, but the last few weeks I’ve been a little worried about you. I can’t help but think that you’re going to let the memory of what Oikawa was to you be your downfall.”

Hajime thinks this isn’t a conversation he wants to be having with Matsukawa over the phone. He belatedly remembers the microwaved leftovers in front of him. They’re probably lukewarm by now.  

“That’s not what it is,” Hajime says. “I’m not— I told him that it’s not what I want, and that’s the truth.”

“But,” Matsukawa says, “you still kissed him back.”

Hajime picks his chopsticks back up. He takes another bite of his dinner, glad that it’s still at least a little warm, and then he says, “So what’s the number of the leasing office for that apartment building?”

 

⟡

 

He’s twenty-seven. Not eighteen. He reminds himself of this when he shows up at the front door of an apartment that he found by following his maps app to a return address from an envelope that should have been thrown away with the rest of his junk mail weeks ago.

He’s twenty-seven. Not eighteen. Whether he kissed Oikawa back is irrelevant. He _knows_ he’s not in love with his ex-best friend.

Still, it’s his turn to apologize.

The front desk gave him a hard time, insisting that he needed to be signed in by the tenant until Hajime pulled the physical therapist card. There’s probably something ethically wrong there, but he’ll feel guilty about that another time. He at the very least owes Oikawa an apology.

He rings the doorbell; he holds his breath.

The door opens about a minute later and he’s greeted with a smile and a bright, unquestioning, “Iwaizumi-san! I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Hajime grins. “Ah, Kudo-san. I’m sorry to bother you but—”

As he speaks, the expression on Kudo’s face grows more questioning until she says, “Tooru doesn’t live here anymore. I mean, I was planning on being the one to move out but— well the building management sort of took care of that. Speaking of, how did you get up here?”

Hajime blinks. “I sort of just talked my way up.” Not a complete lie. “Sorry. He told me that you were moving your stuff out I must have—”

“Like I said, I was planning on it. But with his rating, he wouldn’t have been able to keep the penthouse and I figured if only one of us could stay until the lease ran out I might as well take advantage of it.”

“Oh,” Hajime says. He shakes his head. “Again, sorry for bothering you. I guess I’ll just—”

“Well you’re looking for Tooru, right? He’s staying with Kuroo-san as far as I know.”

“Right, uh, thanks,” Hajime says, “Sorry again.”

He heads back toward the elevator and down to the lobby of the apartment building.

 

⟡

 

Hajime’s only been to Kuroo’s apartment once with Sawamura. That was two years ago. He vaguely remembers where it is, but he’s only about eighty percent sure he’s in the right building and only about sixty percent sure that he’s knocking on the right door.

He ends up apologizing seven times to the old woman who answers the door. She tells him he’s handsome and closes the door when he turns to walk away. He’s about to knock on a second door when there’s a _slam_ at the end of the hall.

“Holy shit. Iwaizumi?”

Hajime blinks, turns his head. “Kuroo,” he says.

“You know someone else who lives in my building and on my floor?” Kuroo asks, head tilting to the side, lips twisting into a smirk.

“I–”

“He’s in there,” Kuroo says, jerking his thumb toward his apartment door.

Hajime blinks.

Kuroo walks towards the elevator, passing Hajime on the way to get to it. “You are here to see him, right?”

Hajime nods then heads toward Kuroo’s front door. He sighs and stares at the door, hesitating. He’s twenty-seven. Not eighteen. Before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks.  

The answer comes only a few seconds later. “Did you forget—” Oikawa says as he pulls the door inward, but he stops short when he sees Hajime standing there. “Oh…”

“Oikawa,” Hajime says, forcing the sound out, not letting it catch in his throat.

Oikawa presses his lips together refuses to look Hajime in the eye. Beyond him, only a single standing lamp is turned on in the apartment. The walls are painted a dark red, which Hajime doesn’t remember from last time he was here.  

He inhales, looks back to Oikawa whose eyes are narrowed at some point beyond him. His hand is still on the door, holding it three-quarters of the way open.

His eyes flit to Hajime’s.  “Well? What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” Hajime says.

“Oh,” Oikawa says, “now _you_ want to talk to _me_. Well, gosh, all my prayers have been answered.” He lets out a false laugh, half of it catches in his throat. “No thank you. Goodbye, Iwaizumi.”  He pushes the door shut, but Hajime stops it before it clicks closed.

Oikawa pushes back against him.

“Oikawa,” Hajime says again, struggling to stop him from closing the door fully. “Please— just—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Oikawa says. “What? Did you come here just to tell me once again that you don’t want me in your life? Just leave, Iwaizumi. I get it.”

“That’s not it,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa narrows his eyes. A moment later, without warning, he stops pressing against the door. Hajime nearly falls into the apartment, gripping the doorframe to keep his balance. Oikawa turns and walks into the apartment, not bothering to say anything or give Hajime a second glance. Hajime shuts the door behind him after crossing the threshold.

“Oikawa,” he says.

“Why are you here?” Oikawa asks, spinning to look at Hajime. “Because, you know, I thought you wanted me to leave you alone for good and I was going to do just that, but then _you_ had to find me on _my birthday_ and make me think—” He cuts off, pushing an exhale through his nose. Then he tears his gaze from Hajime, licks his lips, and says, “Why are you here?”

Hajime sighs. “I owe you an apology.”

Oikawa doesn’t look at him.

“I meant what I said,” Hajime says, “about wanting to be friends again. And I didn’t think— Well, I didn’t stop to think how my showing up might seem to you.”

Hajime waits. Oikawa shifts his weight between his feet but still won’t meet his eyes, still won’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“You didn’t mean to lead me on,” Oikawa repeats. "That’s just like you, Iwaizumi. You want to know what I think?” Hajime doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t say that aloud. “I think _you_ don’t even know why you showed up the other night. Or even now. Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think what?”

“I didn’t think that would be enough.”

“Why?” Oikawa asks. “Why didn’t you think it would be enough? You’re the one who said we’d never be what we were at seventeen, and then you just showed up out of nowhere on my birthday.”

“I—”

“That’s _exactly_ what you would have done when we were seventeen.”

Hajime sighs. “I know,” he says. “And you’re right, I don’t know exactly why I did it except— Well, being alone on your birthday is shitty, and even—”

“Don’t,” Oikawa says, “Don’t you dare say what you’re about to say. I don’t need your pity, Iwaizumi. I don’t even _want it_. So if that’s why you’re here now, please do both of us a favor and stop wasting your time.”

“It’s not,” Hajime says. “I swear that’s not why I’m here. I already told you I came here because I owed you an apology; a real one, not some shitty text.”

“Well,” Oikawa says, crossing his arms over his chest, “you’ve already said you’re sorry.”

Hajime knows that. He’s done what he came here to do— he should leave. Oikawa isn’t interested in forgiving him, at least not yet, but Hajime can’t make his legs move. Can’t get his brain to want to move. If he leaves now he may never see Oikawa again.

He doesn’t want that; he more than doesn’t want that.

“Nine years ago,” Hajime says. “Nine years ago on your birthday you asked me not to leave, and I left. And the other night you asked me to leave, and I left. But I’m not leaving now.”

“I don’t understand,” Oikawa says.

“I’m not losing you,” Hajime says, “Not again. Not for good.”

“Iwa—” Oikawa starts, stops. He shakes his head, furrows his brow. “Do you even hear yourself right now? What am I supposed to think? Because I thought I knew the other night, but, clearly, I didn’t.”

Hajime exhales.  “You were the most important person in my life for almost eighteen years. And when you ditched us— _me_ — it hurt. It hurt a lot. I was so mad that I didn’t want to ever forgive you. When I got an invitation to your wedding from out of the blue, and then saw you for the first time in so long, I think part of me— Well, I kept telling myself I wasn’t mad at you anymore because of how long it had been but— but part of me never forgave you.”

“Thanks _so much_ ,” Oikawa says, words sarcastic,  “for reminding me that I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person,” Hajime says. “You were never a terrible person. Don’t you get it? That’s why it hurt so much.”

“You never told me how you felt back then,” Oikawa says, “I didn’t— I—”

“You were scared,” Hajime finishes. “You were eighteen. And, yeah, I was scared, too, but not in the same paralyzing way that you were about ratings on top of everything else.”

Oikawa sighs. “I don’t know what you want.”

“When I went home the weekend Kudo-san saw me, she ran into me at that park we used to practice at on Sundays during middle school. Remember that place?”

Oikawa’s doesn’t meet Hajime’s gaze when he nods.

“I don’t know why I went back there. But, before I saw Kudo-san, I was thinking about that time I climbed that tree after you claimed you had done it before and told me I probably couldn’t.” Hajime smiles. Exhales. “There’s— ah— there’s a wasp nest on that tree now. I think, being home and thinking about our past without trying to forget or wanting to forget or…  I realized I wasn’t mad at you anymore. I missed what we had back then.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” Hajime says. “I was there.”

“So then what do you want, Iwaizumi? Because I’m more confused now than I was three days ago.”

“I want to be friends again,” Hajime says, “I want to try to be friends again. For real this time.”

There’s a long pause, only the sound of traffic outside disturbing the silence in the apartment. Hajime thinks for a second that Oikawa may outright reject that idea. Maybe it’s Hajime’s turn to be told he’s too late.

At length, Oikawa says, “Okay.”

 

⟡

 

After work the following day, Hajime finds himself in a moment of silence. He wonders whether he should feel guilty; he just feels relieved.

It’s been a while since Hajime’s spent an evening completely alone. He can’t stop replaying the events of Friday night in his head. He wonders whether he should reach out to Kageyama, to tell him that he’s still welcome, but he’s not quite sure whether Kageyama would feel welcome here anymore.

Hajime isn’t entirely sure which of them is at fault for how things ended. Perhaps neither of them is.

In the end, he decides that the timing was wrong.

He can’t help but think that he’s missed something important sign or step in trying to help Kageyama. Hajime does wish he could have helped more. Or helped better. And in the back of his mind, he does worry where Kageyama is now, but—

But Kageyama’s braved worse storms than this. And it was silly of Hajime to think that he— someone who’s never had a rating below a 3.5— could ever begin to understand what Kageyama needs.

Sighing, Hajime sits on his couch, placing a plate of warmed up leftovers on the coffee table in front of him. He unlocks his phone and opens the timeline, scrolling with his left thumb as he eats.  First, he sees a photo post from _Hanamaki 4.0_ on the timeline, a picture of bright blue, pillows of white,  and the edge of an airplane wing. _Missing Japan already,_ the caption reads in English, _can’t wait to be back for good in the fall._

Hajime blinks, opens his text thread with Matsukawa.

        **Iwaizumi [5:59pm]:** no one mentioned hanamaki was coming back for good.

He flips back to the timeline and mindlessly scrolls through it until the return text comes.

        **Matsukawa [6:03pm]:** well …

        **Matsukawa [6:04pm]:** you didn’t exactly give us the chance.

Hajime sighs. He’s been a shitty friend. A shitty, self-involved, friend, who was too busy worrying about Oikawa or Kageyama to remember that Matsukawa and Hanamaki and Sawamura all have lives too. Lives that he wants to be present in, invested in.

        **Iwaizumi [6:07pm]:** i’m sorry...

        **Iwaizumi [6:07pm]:** but that’s good for him!

He should say all the other stuff but— a text doesn’t feel right. He’ll have to make up to Matsukawa and Hanamaki somehow. The fact that he only saw Hanamaki twice while he was visiting the past two weeks… well, Hajime might just be in the running for Worst Friend of the Year.

And, really, he owes the same to Sawamura who’s heard nearly as many complaints from Hajime the past few weeks as Matsukawa. All while getting ready for his own wedding, which, Hajime should be excited about. One of his best friends is getting _married_ in a few weeks, and Hajime still hasn’t even thought of a gift because he’s spent the last month obsessing about less important things. He hadn’t even thought of the fact that there would have to be a bachelor party until Azumane brought it up.

What is wrong with him?

He scrolls further down the timeline, sees a post from _Kudo 4.7_ — a picture with a woman Hajime recognizes as one of the girls that used to follow Oikawa around at Aoba Johsai their third year— and a short caption about new beginnings.

The preview comments are all about Oikawa— _Did you hear he’s below a 4.5 now?_ And _Do you guys know if it’s true? Did he cheat on her?_ — and Hajime’s not sure which of them he’s more upset for at that. He remembers why scrolling the timeline isn’t something he’s ever made a habit of. But Kudo rarely, if ever, replies to fan comments on her posts, and this post isn’t an exception.

He wishes, rather bizarrely, that there had been a world where he hadn’t blocked Oikawa out. Where he had gotten to know Kudo Akane, not as Oikawa’s girlfriend or ex-fiancee, but as the softball player and person. Though he does wonder whether she’d be so forgiving if she knew how he felt about Oikawa in high school.

Oikawa’s social media page has been silent since his birthday.

He’s gotten a few odd followers— die-hard fans of Oikawa Tooru, Japan’s setter—  since Oikawa posted that picture of them from their childhood all those weeks ago, and then the picture of him at lunch. Both instances feel like a different lifetime.  

He’s blocked direct messages from people he doesn’t follow back, though, so they can’t ask him any weird questions like: _What was Oikawa like at six years old?_ (Annoying and nerdy.)

Hajime pushes a breath through his nose. They’re supposed to be friends again. He’s not one for reminiscing publicly by posting throwback photos except for the embarrassing ones he has of Sawamura in grad school or Matsukawa in college.

Instead, he types out a single text before hitting send.

        **Iwaizumi [6:59pm]:** so when do i best you in a one-on-one match?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to karinne ([armyofskanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofskanks)) for being my lifeblood.


	12. X.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "Come on," he says, fingers curling around Oikawa's bare elbow, "let's go get milk bread."

"Well, Iwai—"  Oikawa pauses, starts again, "Iwa-chan, I guess you owe me dinner."

Hajime huffs an exhale through his mouth, palms on his knees. The sound of a volleyball rolling to a stop against the wall of the national volleyball team's practice gym pulls his attention momentarily before he looks back at Oikawa. His forehead's beaded with sweat and he would argue that they make it the best _three out of five_ but he's already too tired from talking Oikawa into making it the best two out of three. (Not without a complaint from Oikawa that his _physical therapist_ would get mad at him, only making Hajime roll his eyes.)

"Fine," he says when he's caught his breath.  "You won fair and square. What do you want to eat?"

Oikawa taps his chin and makes an overly-dramatic version of a thoughtful expression; it's the sort of face Hajime would have told him he'd punch him for back when they were seventeen. Now he just pushes an exhale through his nose and raises an eyebrow.

"I know a tofu restaurant nearby," Oikawa says, finally.

"What?" Hajime asks, surprised.

Oikawa tilts his head and he smirks down at Hajime. "Is your hearing starting to go with old age?"

Hajime rolls his eyes and straightens his back. "I'm the same age as you, Oikawa."

"You're a month older."

Hajime shakes his head but pushes a breath through his nose like a laugh. "I _meant_ ," he says, getting back to the topic at hand, "that we should go somewhere with food _you_ like since you won."

"I like tofu," Oikawa says with a shrug and a slight upward tilt of his chin.

"Maybe people do change after all," Hajime says, placing his hands on his hips. He realizes after he speaks that maybe his tone is too soft and the slight smile on his face must be a dead giveaway for someone who once knew him as well as Oikawa.

Oikawa tilts his head and says, "I was always this selfless."

Hajime snorts at that.

Things had started off awkward earlier, but this sense of familiarity has put Hajime's mind at ease. He _wants_ to be friends with Oikawa, and for the first time in over nine years, it seems like a viable possibility.

"Seriously, Oikawa, we should go somewhere with food _you_ like. That was the deal."

"And _I_ haven't had tofu in a while," Oikawa insists, "so I'm craving it right now."

Sighing, Hajime drags one foot along the gym floor, shoes squeaking against it. He did better against Oikawa than he had in rain-soaked clothes and wet, non-athletic shoes less than a week earlier. Still, he hadn't won today, so Oikawa's insistence on getting tofu is ridiculous… and also just like the best friend Hajime remembers.

Hajime relents. "Fine we'll get tofu—" He pauses. "— but we're stopping for milk bread after."

"Oh, Iwa-chan," Oikawa teases, "has someone developed a sweet tooth?"

Hajime shakes his head and lets out a sigh. He hasn't so much as touched a piece of milk bread since before their last fight in high school. If anything his already lacking sweet tooth has nearly died completely by now; even strawberries are sometimes too sweet for his liking these days.

"Don't be a moron," he replies, but there's the ghost of a grin on his lips.

"Still mean," Oikawa says with a pout.

It feels _natural_ — bantering with Oikawa as if the nine-year pause in their friendship never happened— and part of Hajime thinks maybe he should be wary, that he should remember nothing is ever simple and nothing related to Oikawa Tooru especially, but even his own thoughts are not enough to prevent him from feeling at ease; from feeling _content_ here on this volleyball court with his childhood best friend.

"Sorry," he says and pushes a breath through his nose, but the small smile is still on his lips.

Oikawa watches him with suspicious eyes for a moment. He says, "What have you done with the real Iwa-chan?"

"What are you on about now?" Hajime asks.

"Iwaizumi Hajime? Apologizing for saying something rude? No former best friend of mine would _ever_ —"

"Nevermind," Hajime says, "I take it back. You're definitely a moron."

Oikawa gasps, but Hajime knows better than to think he's actually offended.

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and it isn't until after they've changed and showered and are walking down the sidewalk that Hajime realizes it. He had never considered before the comfortable silences with Oikawa that none others had ever lived up to. There are times even with Sawamura or Matsukawa that Hajime feels the need to keep the conversation flowing.

"I'm glad," Hajime says aloud, "that we can be friends again."  It's something that— had they worked through things sooner— would have gone without saying, but he feels the need to voice it. If he doesn't say it aloud, for both of them to hear, perhaps it won't last; perhaps he'll wake up tomorrow in his apartment, and the past few weeks will all just have been a dream.

Oikawa doesn't look at him. He keeps his eyes trained toward the sidewalk, and as Hajime watches, he recognizes the expression on Oikawa's face. Even in just its profile, he recognizes it; it's the look Oikawa wore before particularly tough matches. The way he looked every time they were about to step up to the net against Ushijima and all of Shiratorizawa. The way he looked before the game that lost them their last shot at nationals. Lost _Oikawa_ his last shot at nationals.

"What's on your mind?" Hajime asks.

Oikawa shakes his head, looks at Hajime with a plastered-on smile. "It's nothing, Iwa-chan."

"Oi—"

"I said it's nothing," Oikawa repeats, smile not faltering even for a second.

He'd nearly forgotten Oikawa had nine extra years of practicing this fake look. Pulling his eyebrows together, Hajime debates pushing Oikawa. Nine years ago, it wouldn't have been a question— he would have gotten an answer out of his best friend. But they're not eighteen anymore.  As nice as the past hour or so has been, as secure as it was beginning to make Hajime feel, there's still that fact. They're not what they were before.

Not yet, anyway.

"Okay," Hajime says, though both of them know he doesn't believe it.

 

⟡

 

By the end of dinner, the awkward mood from the sidewalk has dissipated entirely; entirely and without explanation, really, and while Hajime would _like_ an explanation he still isn't keen on bringing it back up or pushing Oikawa. Not when things are starting to look up for their friendship.

The table between them is a glossed over dark wood; it reflects the orange lights back up at them. Hajime's plate is already empty, but they haven't even been here a whole hour yet. To his credit, Oikawa was right. The tofu was really good.

They've been chatting idly between chewing on the tofu. Mostly a lot of stories from college and grad school that never had the opportunity to be shared between them. Hajime sips at his straw after finishing telling a story about a wild night out with Sawamura during their last year in school together.

"I think," Oikawa says, "I'm going to stick with Sawamura-san as my physical therapist. For a bit anyway."  He shifts where he sits and looks at the still half-full plate in front of him. "If that's okay."

Hajime's eyebrows pull together. "It's probably for the best," he agrees. Still. "Why are you acting so weird about it?"

"I was worried you'd be angry."

"Oikawa," Hajime says. He lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. "Why on earth would that make me angry?"

"I put in so much effort to get you to agree to be my physical therapist in the first place, and now I'm backing out."

Hajime rolls his eyes. He knows as well as Oikawa that all of that was never about Hajime's ability as a physical therapist. He _is_ good at his job, but he suspects Oikawa likely wasn't even thinking about that at the time.  "You wanted me back in your life," he says with a shrug. "Now you have that."

"It still feels… a little too soon. I want—" he trains his eyes downward once more, lets out a breath through his mouth. "I want it to be you, Iwa-chan. When things are… more _normal_ between us."

"Well," Hajime says, "since you're involved I doubt things will ever be _normal._ "

Oikawa kicks Hajime's leg under the table (not quite hard enough to hurt) and grins. "You know what I mean, Iwa-chan. You don't have to _insult_ me."

"But you make it so easy," Hajime replies.

After they pay for their food and find themselves back outside, Hajime says. "Okay, now what ridiculous place has your favorite milk bread?"

"Why would you assume it's a ridiculous place?" Oikawa asks.

Hajime shakes his head and bumps his shoulder against Oikawa's as they walk. "It's been a while since we've… since we've been friends, but there's no way you've changed _that_ much."

Oikawa opens his mouth to say something, but he's interrupted by the sound of a woman's voice shouting. They both turn around, and Hajime can't quite figure out what's happening, except that she's just called someone an _asshole_ very loudly and publicly. He spots a short woman making a bee-line straight for them.

He glances at Oikawa to see if it's someone he recognizes. Oikawa's eyes are wide and his gaze keeps darting across the street like he's thinking of making a run for it. Hajime's ready to run behind him without question—

She slaps Oikawa in the face.

They've drawn the attention of about five surrounding people. Hajime can feel everyone's eyes on them, and the woman is still yelling at Oikawa. There's a lot of ' _How dare you,_ ' and ' _You never deserved her.'_ Hajime figures out it's about Kudo, but he still can't figure out who this woman is, or if she even _knows_ Oikawa until she pauses in her tirade, steps back from Oikawa, and looks straight at him.

 _Nomura Airi 4.6_.

"Of course," she says, still looking at Hajime. "Of course. I should have known." She looks back at Oikawa. "Does Kudo know? _Did she know?_ I swear to god, Oikawa, if—"

"It's not like that," Oikawa says.

"Oh really?" Nomura asks. "Wasn't it _like that_ when you broke up with me back in high school?"

"What?" Oikawa asks.

"In high school. Remember, when you broke up with me right before your birthday? I know you dated a lot of girls back then, but I'm pretty certain it was probably the same with all of them, too, wasn't it? Every one always second place to precious _Iwa-chan,_ " she says, spitting out Oikawa's nickname for Hajime.

"Look," Hajime says, "I have no idea what you're so angry about, but it sounds like maybe you should talk to Kudo before assaulting her ex-fiancé in the middle of the street."

Nomura doesn't seem to have an argument for that. She scoffs at them and then walks away. Hajime doesn't miss her pulling her phone out of her pocket, or the quick succession of notifications that his and Oikawa's phones get.  He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before opening them again.

"I didn't know that she and Kudo were friends," he says.

"They weren't," Oikawa says, looking at his phone and not bothering to glance at Hajime. "not until after college."

"Do you want to tell me what all that was about?"

Oikawa shakes his head, still avoids looking at him. Oddly, Hajime feels relieved by that.

"She rated us both one star," Oikawa says.

And that's annoying more than anything, but Oikawa looks like he wants to be anywhere else in the world more than he wants to be standing on this street in Tokyo. Hajime has never rated someone out of spite before, but something about this whole situation makes the impulse hard to ignore. He pulls out his phone and rates Nomura Airi _1.0_.

"Come on," he says, fingers curling around Oikawa's bare elbow, "let's go get milk bread."

 

⟡

 

"Iwaizumi-san," Kuroo says with a smirk. His arms are crossed, and he leans his shoulder against the wall of the building where they're starting the evening off for Sawamura's bachelor party. "Glad you could make it."

"I _picked_ this bar," Hajime says. He shakes his head and sighs. "Are you always like this?"

Kuroo shrugs. "Only most of the time."

"If we're both here," Hajime says, "who's bringing Sawamura?"

"His Karasuno friends, I think... Azumane-san and Sugawara-san?"

Had Hajime known this, he likely would have planned to show up just a few minutes later, if only to avoid this exact situation. Kuroo isn't someone Hajime is keen on seeing, especially not after the last time they saw in each other in the hallway of Kuroo's apartment, Hajime about to knock on yet another wrong door.

The lights of the city above them make it seem nearly as bright as daytime on the sidewalk. It's only when Hajime looks up that he sees the sky is dark, even though he knows it's nearly nine o'clock at night. After seeing Oikawa he'd barely had time to change into clothes appropriate for tonight's activities. He'd gone simple, as usual, a black tee-shirt and dark jeans. Kuroo's dressed similarly. And while the summer days and nights have mostly been unbearably hot this season, the night air feels cool on his bare arms.

"I told them to make sure he wears his best shirt," Kuroo says. "That way when he throws up all over it I can catch it on camera and send it to Michimiya."

"That's kind of awful," Hajime says.

Kuroo shrugs.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Someone calls from behind Hajime.

Kuroo raises a hand to greet them and Hajime cranes his neck to see Bokuto Koutarou heading towards them at a light jog.

"Yo," Kuroo says in greeting.

"You guys will never believe what happened on my way here," Bokuto says, and before either Kuroo or Hajime can stop him, he launches headfirst into a story about nearly getting hit by a taxi, which, frankly, Hajime can fully believe having lived in Tokyo since grad school. "It was crazy, though," Bokuto insists.

"I don't know why we invited you," Kuroo says to Bokuto, but there isn't any malice in his voice when he says it.

"Because Sawamura likes me just as much as you guys, even if he didn't ask me to be a groomsman."

Hajime raises his eyebrows at that but says nothing. He hadn't really thought Bokuto was genuinely upset about Sawamura not asking him to be in the wedding— after all it was clear that Sawamura spent more time with the four he _had_ asked. Still, he's not planning on feeding into whatever complex Bokuto has that's made him genuinely believe he should have been asked so he keeps quiet.

"Hey," Kuroo says, "at least you can't be mad at Oikawa for not asking you to be in his wedding anymore."

"Exactly," Bokuto says, "so I've had to redirect all my energy at Sawamura."

"Careful," Hajime interjects, "if you push him too hard he'll drop you as a client."

"Sawamura wouldn't do that," Bokuto says. "He's a nice guy!"

"Nice guy or not," Kuroo says, "one person can only handle so much of you. Luckily, Akaashi and I have that schedule worked out seamlessly."

"You make it sound like you're his separated parents," Hajime notes.

"Not far off, actually," Kuroo says.

Bokuto pouts in response and says, "When do we get to drink?"

Kuroo laughs. "When Sawamura gets here. Don't get ahead of yourself."

Letting the other two revert to their usual back-and-forth, Hajime tunes out of the conversation.  He's glad at least that Kuroo didn't bring up Oikawa before Bokuto arrived, even as their friendship feels salvageable he's not entirely sure he's ready to talk about it, at least not with one of _Oikawa's_ close friends. And it's not like he's planning on bringing it up with Sawamura tonight when this is supposed to be about having fun before he gets married.

Pulling him from his thoughts, two loud voices approach the group. There's the unmistakable laughter of Tanaka (Hajime can count on his fingers the number of times he's been in the same room as Tanaka throughout his friendship with Sawamura, and yet that sound is unmistakable.) And with him the voice that Hajime recognizes as belonging to Nishinoya.

"Are we early?" _Tanaka 3.7_ asks when the pair reaches them.

Kuroo looks at the clock on his phone. "A little bit, yeah," he says with a shrug.

"Really, Noya," Tanaka says, "you're always one of those inconsiderately early people."

" _You_ just think it's inconsiderate because you're always late to everything. Even things that we hosted at _our apartment_ in university!"

Tanaka grumbles a response to that under his breath.

"Iwaizumi-san!" Nishinoya greets. "It's been awhile. Asahi mentioned he saw you with Daichi the other day." He puts out his hand in a gesture to shake Hajime's, but when Hajime goes to return the gesutre Nishinoya slaps it instead.

Hajime blinks then shakes his head before belatedly replying, "Yeah, Sawamura dragged me out of the office."

"It's so funny that you guys are friends now," Nishinoya says, "You know... after high school."

"You mean after you stole our chance at nationals?" Hajime asks.

"After we beat you fair and square," Tanaka says, tone defensive.

Hajime nods, pushing a breath through his nose like a laugh. "After I threw the game. That's right." He remembers how bitter it felt in the moment. Now, he simply shakes his head and grins at the former Karasuno team members. "But, you were the better team. That's what counts." Sometimes he wonders how far they would have made it had Seijoh gone to the nationals that year. It's not something he's let himself dwell on in a long time, and now, to think too much about it feels pointless.

Tanaka looks like he's about to say something in reply when Kuroo, lifts his chin and says, "Look who's here."

Hajime looks in the direction of Kuroo's eyeline. The look on Sawamura's face when he sees them all is somewhere between pleasantly surprised and terrified. Hajime thinks it's appropriate.

When Sawamura, flanked by Sugawara and Azumane on either side, reaches them he says, "You guys even got _Iwaizumi_ to leave his apartment for me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hajime asks.

"I think," Kuroo says, "Sawamura just teased you."

 

⟡

 

One hand curled around an empty glass, Hajime watches the karaoke stage warily. Sawamura is currently nearly sitting in _both_ Bokuto and Kuroo's laps as he serenades them (singing very out of key and slightly off-beat.) Briefly, he entertains the idea of taping this for his own entertainment and the look of mortification it would bring to Sawamura's face on Monday morning.

A few others had shown up to join them: friends of Sawamura and Kuroo's from their days in university, a couple of other Karasuno members— including the short orange-haired one that had drawn Oikawa's ire nearly to the same extent as Kageyama,— and a cousin of Sawamura's that Hajime hadn't even known existed prior to tonight.

When Sawamura's song finally ends, a stumbling but very determined Nishinoya drags a sober and anxious-looking Azumane toward the stage. Hajime thinks he's escaped anyone dragging _him_ up to the stage, so he flags down the bartender to order another drink. He's about to head over to where Sawamura, Bokuto, and Kuroo are sitting, but as soon as he thinks that, someone bumps into him from behind.

"Whoa," the person says. "You're… big."

Hajime turns, and is greeted with orange hair and a wide-eyed look from the short Karasuno player. Hajime can't remember his name until the hologram circle appears around his face. _Hinata 4.2._

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm—" Hinata starts. He pauses, takes a step back, and then shakes his head and laughs. "You're the guy," he says, "you're the guy, right?"

Hajime blinks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Iwaizumi-san," Hinata says.

"Yeah," he says, "I— It's been a while."  It's been since Karasuno beat Seijoh that year. Hajime doesn't think he ever expected to interact with Hinata in a setting like this, at one of his best friend's bachelor parties, but he doesn't know why. Sawamura always was close with his third year team, Hajime had known that since the beginning of their friendship in grad school, but other than Azumane and Sugawara, Sawamura had essentially kept that all separate from his friendship with Hajime.

Hinata hiccups before continuing, "I heard that you were with Kageyama."

"Oh," Hajime says, frowning. "I _was_ kind of, but—"

"Don't worry," Hinata says, seriously, placing a hand on Hajime's arm, "I'm not mad."

Narrowing his eyes, Hajime tries to figure out what Hinata means by that. "That's… good, I guess?"

"I've dated other people too, since—" Hinata breaks off, narrows his eyes at the empty glass in his hand. "I need another drink," he decides aloud.

That statement is one that Hajime, at least, can agree with. He steps out of the way for Hinata to get at the edge of the bar and he's about to head towards where Kuroo and a very red-faced Sawamura watch a very drunk Bokuto try to explain something (by the hand gestures that Hajime can make out, that's what it looks like he's doing) when Hinata grabs his arm again, and says, "Wait. Wait. I didn't mean to scare you off. Can we talk?"

Truthfully Hajime does not want to talk, not about Kageyama and not to Hinata, but if they don't talk tonight then maybe he'll flag Hajime down at the wedding, and Hajime makes the decision that talking tonight is the lesser of two bad situations.

"Okay," he says, sitting in an empty barstool next to Hinata.

"Is he," Hinata starts, fingers fidgeting around the translucent stem of the new glass that the bartender's brought him. "How is he?"

Hajime thinks for a moment before answering. "I can't say I'm sure," he admits. "We fought the last time I saw him, and I don't know— I don't know what he's been up to since." Hajime remembers that that was not even a full week ago. "He was doing… better, though. Before we fought, I mean. At least, better than when I had first seen him."

"I haven't talked to him in years," Hinata admits. "But, I—" He stops short, and Hajime isn't quite sure whether he'll continue or not. He sighs, and then Hinata says, "I tried. After he left Miyagi— He didn't even tell anyone he was leaving back then... He just didn't show up one day— I tried to find him."

"Did you find him?"

"I did," Hinata says, "A few times, actually. But he always ignored me or told me to leave and—" He shrugs. "You know, as a teenager, I would have never given up on anything especially not something important to me."

Hajime does know. Had seen it with his own eyes.

"I still feel guilty when I think about how easily I let him leave," Hinata says. "I never cared about his rating back then. I didn't know how to make him know that, though, especially when it's all anyone ever talks about for the whole of third year."

A breath leaves Hajime's mouth as a sigh. He's not sure what to say to Hinata, or if there's anything he _can_ say.

Rather than try to find the right words, he admits, "I didn't expect to be having this conversation tonight."  

But Hinata at least is right about how it's harder to figure out what to think of the ratings system before you're thrown into it yourself. He imagines it feels like drowning— being thrown into the deep end with no life vest and not knowing how to swim— for Kageyama and anyone else starting out with a low rating.

Hinata sips on his brightly colored drink through a clear straw. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and Hajime's not sure what to do. Part of him just wants to walk away from this entire conversation.

Before he can, Hinata asks, "Is it stupid that I still miss him sometimes?"

Even though Hajime knows that he's talking about Kageyama, he finds himself thinking of Oikawa.  

"No," he says, "I don't think that's stupid."

Hinata grins at him, all seriousness gone from his face. "Thanks, Iwaizumi-san," he says, as if they'd been talking about volleyball this whole time and not Kageyama Tobio. "You're a really nice guy, you know that?"

"I don't know about that," Hajime says, truthfully. "But I try."

"That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Maybe Hinata's right, maybe trying does count for something, but he's not sure, and it feels wrong to say so in light of the past month. And anyway, Hajime's never been one for the abstract, so why start now?

 

⟡

 

The next morning, Hajime wakes early— too early, in his humble opinion— to head in the direction of Matsukawa's apartment. It's bright and far too warm with the summer heat. He'd forgotten to turn the air conditioning back up when he'd come home last night. As he sits up he remembers stumbling straight to his bed and falling face-first into it, only to fall asleep nearly immediately. He hadn't even gotten under the sheets.

After his shower, Hajime heads for the train station. He's reminded of why his drinking slowed down considerably after twenty-five; the sounds of life going on around him all ring against his ears at an impossibly loud decibel. When the train finally arrives, the sound of the whistle is enough to rattle his brain in his skull.

Still, he manages to reach Matsukawa's apartment at the time they agreed on.

"God damn," Matsukawa says after he opens the door and lets Hajime inside. He raises his eyebrows slightly. " _You_ look like shit."

Hajime rolls his eyes. "Thanks," he says, drily.

Matsukawa laughs and says with a smirk, "I can't wait to be neighbors."

"It's not even the same building," Hajime says, but he's grinning. And since they're on the topic of locations and living, Hajime thinks to ask, "Do you know where Hanamaki's staying when he comes back to Japan?"

Matsukawa shrugs. "Maybe here for a while, unless you want to offer him _your_ couch."

"Sawamura and Michimiya have been looking at houses together," Hajime says, "maybe we can pawn him off on them."

Matsukawa nods sagely. "Might be worth a try."

There's a pause in the conversation, and Hajime takes the opportunity to get himself a glass of water in Matsukawa's kitchen. He remembers the last time he was here, the words he'd thrown at Oikawa just outside, the need to defend Kageyama. Or maybe that night was always about himself; everything about how he's acted the last month feels muddled. He takes a long drink from the glass and tops it off again.

"I saw Oikawa yesterday," he says as he turns toward the living area where Matsukawa's moved to sit on the couch. He no longer wants to simply assume that Matsukawa is okay with Hajime using him as a way to vent and to process. Hajime has tried to tell himself that he'd let Matsukawa do so were their roles reversed, but Matsukawa has never tried, or at least hasn't since a long time ago.

Rather than say anything, Matsukawa raises his eyebrows, eyes widening in a way that makes Hajime feel judged. When Hajime sits down next to him and doesn't continue right away, Matsukawa asks, "And?"

"And," Hajime says, running a hand through his hair, "It was… normal adjacent."

"Normal adjacent?" Matsukawa asks.

Hajime nods, "Yeah. It was _almost_ normal. It felt like we hadn't ever stopped being friends for a bit."

Leaning back against the couch, Matsukawa blinks and then nods. "I have to say, it's kind of weird to hear Oikawa's name and have it be followed by something _other_ than a complaint. Kind of nice too, but still— weird. From your mouth anyway."

Hajime rolls his eyes.

"So there really wasn't any drama at all?"  Matsukawa clarifies.

"Well," Hajime says, "none caused by Oikawa."

Matsukawa pulls his eyebrows together. "Meaning…"

"Meaning that the only dramatic thing that happened was a girl slapped him on the face in the middle of broad daylight on a Tokyo sidewalk but—"

A burst of laughter rings through the room, and then Matsukawa shakes his head. "Really?" he asks, regaining his composure.

Hajime nods, and then Matsukawa shakes his head again before checking the time on his phone.

"Oh shit," he says, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Hajime says, "let's head over."

He's thankful that Matsukawa agreed to join him to check out the apartment complex across the street. _'Who knows,'_ he'd said on the phone yesterday afternoon, _'maybe I'll steal this place out from under you._ '  Hajime had simply clicked his tongue at that. He knows he'll forget to ask all the right questions— what with the current state of his head— so it's better that his friend is with him.

The woman in the leasing office looks at them with a tight smile when they enter. Her eyes give away the deceit in her expression, but Hajime's too hungover to care too much about that. "Ah, is one of you Iwaizumi-san?"

"Yeah," Hajime answers, "that's me."

"And you two are looking together?" She asks, eyes flitting from him, to Matsukawa, and back.

"Well we're both here aren't we?" Matsukawa says. "I'm not looking to _live_ here though. I live across the street, just here to help a friend out."

Her smile relaxes a fraction.

"Well," she says, standing up and heading toward the office door. "the vacancy is just this way."

She leads them up through a doorway across the hall and up a narrow cement staircase. Their footsteps all echo against the walls as they climb the stairs.

"This isn't the main staircase," she says, "it's just faster to go this way."

Matsukawa gives Hajime a look, and Hajime returns a similar one. Hajime's phone vibrates in his pocket and when he pulls it out to check it, it's a text from Matsukawa that's simply the knife emoji.  Hajime shakes his head, quickly types back _'she's not going to murder us'_ and then puts his phone back in the pocket of his jeans.

"Is there an elevator?" Hajime asks, when they get to the fourth floor and, rather than go through the doorway, turn to continue climbing the stairs.

"It's under maintenance right now, but it should be back in use within the next week."

"If I had to move in and carry all my stuff up six flights of stairs I think I'd just become one of those people who rejects materialism," Matsukawa says. "Who needs more than one set of clothes anyway?"

"It's not the clothes that would be the problem," Hajime says, thinking of his clunky living room sofa.

They finally leave the cramped, suffocating, stairwell at the sixth floor. And, well, it doesn't smell like the hallway of his current apartment— a mix of cigarettes, weed, and strong smelling foods. This hallway smells of someone baking, of floor polisher— and the wood floors do look just recently polished— and faintly of paint.

A few doors past the out of order elevator the leasing agent unlocks the apartment door and leads both of them inside. "You can look around in any of the rooms and ask me if you have questions." After a short pause, she adds "Oh, and, all of the appliances are brand new, just replaced after the last tenant moved out."

It's a small apartment, not any bigger than the one he has now, but it's certainly nicer. There's no chipping paint, dents in the walls, or dim lights. Hajime paces around the living room and kitchen area before making his way into the bedroom. He stops in the bathroom first and briefly turns on the showerhead to test the water pressure.  Matsukawa remains in the kitchen area, asking the leasing agent about pest issues.

Hajime lets them talk, hearing their voices but not really listening.

The bedroom has not one, but _two_ windows. For some reason that feels like a big step up from where he is now. Neither window faces a parking lot either, but a line of trees that separate the apartment complex from the next lot over. Though the staircase had put him on edge, and something about this woman who, he realizes far too belatedly, still hasn't introducted herself is off-putting (to put it nicely,) he considers what it might be like to live here.

Thirty minutes later they're back in the leasing office. "We'll send you a digital copy of the lease," she says, "it will tell you your monthly rate which is determined based on your rating, income level, and credit history."  Which is the same as every other place Hajime has ever lived.

He technically can't move out until his current lease is up, but as they step back onto the sidewalk and head toward Matsukawa's apartment, it feels like a new start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been a minute, y'all. i'm still breathing tho.


	13. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Tooru has whiplash.

It's Sunday afternoon, a rare day without practice or some other obligation for the team. Tooru's still in the tee-shirt he wore to bed, and he hasn't even brushed his hair, but that doesn't really matter because Kuroo's seen him worse off more times than he can count. After all, he'd been the one to help Tooru at least have some semblance of keeping his shit together after the break-up. Or tried to help, anyway.

All he's eaten today is a stale piece of milk bread, and he drank two peach-flavored sodas out of glass bottles. They were probably overpriced, but he's only the one who doesn't think they taste gross, apparently, so they ended up in Kuroo's fridge. Kuroo's friend Kenma had handed off to them, leftover from some event or other for his work. A game launch, probably, Kuroo's always talking about going to those things. When he brought the leftover sodas he didn't really say much other than, "You like these," to Tooru, matter-of-factly.

He feels like a college student again, but instead of hungover he's just feeling sorry for himself. Maybe it's the thought of what he has to do today, where he has to go. He'd responded only that the early evening time worked perfectly for him, and had half-heartedly added a kaomoji in, to try to hide the fact that he's so on edge about it.

Now, he decides that one thing and one thing only can distract him.

Tooru falls melodramatically forward onto the carpeted floor of Kuroo's living room. When Kuroo doesn't even glance away from his laptop screen, Tooru clears his throat as loud as he can.  

Kuroo pulls one earbud out and holds onto it, raising an eyebrow at Tooru.

"Were you even listening to anything?" Tooru asks, "Or were you trying to get me to leave you alone?"

Kuroo smirks, leaning back into his hands where he sits cross-legged, and says, "Guess."

Iwa-chan would have said something like, _I already know I'd have to try a lot harder for you to get the hint._ Tooru can nearly hear the words his own thoughts form in Iwa-chan's pretend-annoyed tone.  

He's been doing this a lot lately, imagining how Iwa-chan would react in every single situation he finds himself in. It's not a state of mind he's entirely unused to, though it has been awhile. He remembers feeling that way the first months of college, without Iwa-chan and with no silence so long between them. (He almost wants to laugh at his past self's naivety; how little he'd known.) But now it's far less melancholy.

In one sentence he manages to voice all of this. "That's not what Iwa-chan would say."

It's enough to steal Kuroo's attention because he lets out a long exhale, but pushes a key on his laptop and then pulls his other earbud out and lets both of them fall into his lap.  He looks at Tooru expectantly.

When Tooru doesn't immediately launch into whatever it is Kuroo's expecting, he asks, "Did you see him again?"

"No," he says, shifting his weight to pull his phone out of the pocket of his sweats.

Kuroo lets out an exasperated sigh at Tooru.

"We _have_ been texting though,"  Tooru says as if that makes all the difference. (It does.)

"Uh-huh…" Kuroo replies, eyes wary.

Rather than reply, Tooru unlocks his phone to look a the latest message that Iwa-chan has sent him. It's a photo message of _Kuroo_ of all people, in a particularly embarrassing position with a microphone in his hand. He and Bokuto are leaning into each other, and, from the looks of it,  it's amazing that they're managing to keep themselves upright at all.

Tooru grins wide and looks up at Kuroo. "But _how_ ," he asks, "are things going with you and your secret lover?"

At the question, Kuroo decides to busy himself with inspecting his fingernails. He's trying to look casual, but Tooru knows better than that. For all the Kuroo can see through Tooru, the opposite is just as true.

"Have you told Bokuto?" Tooru asks. He swings his legs around himself so he's in a seated position. "Or do you guys still think he'll be _devastated?_ " Tooru brings a hand to his forehand and fake-swoons.

"I never used the word 'devastated'," Kuroo says in a tone far more defensive than Oikawa thinks necessary. "And neither did Keiji."

"Does Akaashi know about your _history_ with Bokuto?" Oikawa asks, crossing his arms across his eyes and narrowing his eyes.

Kuroo lets out a strained breath, but he answers the question anyway. " _Yes._ He's known about it since it happened which was before we were even together. And, _please,_ can you stop referring to my _'history with Bokuto'_ like it was some huge dramatic shitshow? It was _one_ time, and we were both shitfaced."  He pauses. "It wasn't even _a_ deal, never mind a big deal."

"Does Bokuto know that?"

Kuroo hesitates, narrowing his eyes, then asks, "When did this turn into an interrogation anyway? Can you go back to droning on about Iwaizumi?"

Tooru gasps. "I do not _drone_!"

"Should we ask _Iwa-chan?_ " Kuroo teases, and he seems to have gotten over his annoyance as quickly as it'd come because now he's smirking, "I think he'd take my side."

Iwa-chan absolutely would take Kuroo's side, so Tooru can't even disagree with that. He pouts.

"When's your next date?" Kuroo asks.

"I already told you it wasn't a date." He sounds more disappointed than he intends to, which is just further proof that he's become far too comfortable around Kuroo Tetsurou.

"You played volleyball together, then went to dinner together, and _then_ he bought milk bread for you." Kuroo lists off these events like Tooru has forgotten them— as if Tooru could— and then he asks, "How is that not a date?

"Didn't he just tell you a few weeks ago that he used to be in love with you?"

Rather than respond to the question Tooru looks at his lap.

"And then didn't _you_ tell him that you're _still_ in love with him? And didn't he kiss you on your birthday?"

Tooru's starting to regret relaying all of his deepest personal information to the likes of Kuroo Tetsurou.  Besides, Kuroo knew what happened after that thing on Tooru's birthday, that he refuses to think about never mind speak of, thank you very much.  It wasn't exactly like Iwaizumi saying he didn't want anything like that between them followed the logic that they must be dating.

Isn't Kuroo supposed to be smart?

"It's not like that," Tooru says, "Anyway, I think he only bought me milk bread because—"

He cuts off. He had neglected to mention the run-in with Nomura Airi. In fact, he had _nearly_ forgotten all about her which was probably Iwaizumi's whole reason for buying him milk bread— and it had almost worked, until just now, damn that thoughtful bastard.

Kuroo snaps his laptop shut as if he senses that what's coming isn't going be a short conversation. "Because?" he prompts.

"We ran into someone."

 

⟡

 

Tooru sits on the subway without really paying attention to everything around him. Normally he'd eavesdrop on strangers.  He's not really in the mood for that right now.

He scrolls through his text messages with Iwaizumi, all the way back to the top. He's bitterly reminded of being stood up for lunch that first time, and like he's been burned he scrolls back to the bottom. He still hasn't responded to the picture of Kuroo and Bokuto. Pressing his lips together, he locks his phone and shoves into the pocket of his khaki's.

He's not really in the mood for keeping up the charade of whatever it is that they're supposed to be. Friends? You don't kiss your friend on their birthday and then walk out on them.

For the next two stops, Tooru stares at the sneakers of a man sitting across from him after a second too long of awkward eye contact ( _Irino 3.2_ ). He should have taken a cab he thinks as he gets off at an all too familiar stop. The sight of this particular station gives him a moment of dread, of anxiety, and of uncomfortable deja vu before he has the presence of mind to step onto the platform at the second before the doors close.

He has tunnel vision all the way up the stairs that let out onto the sidewalk. All the way to the apartment building. All the way to the penthouse.

When she opens the door, _Kudo 4.8_ says nothing. She looks at him, and he looks at her, and then she steps back and he follows her silently, shutting the door behind him.

He clears his throat awkwardly as they make their way to the living room. "Your score—"

"Can we not do this?" Akane asks him, turning to face him.

"What," Tooru says.

"Make small talk," she replies, "I'm tired."

She's not lying about that. He can see it in her eyes, in the flat expression on her face. She has bags under her eyes, and it's not something Tooru's ever seen on her before. He feels taken aback at the sight.

He would wonder how he missed it, but she hides it well, of course. Her hair is styled neatly, the top layers pulled up in a knot and the bottom layers lightly curled. Her clothes look like they've been pressed, and she had gotten into the habit of getting her clothes tailored when Tooru suggested anyway, and since had always looked put together without much effort. She probably has make-up on too— no one's skin glows naturally like that— but it was always hard for Tooru to tell if he didn't see her do it.

Tooru inhales unsteadily, but he nods.

They stand behind the sofa and Akane motions to the box sitting near the doorframe, against the wall. "There it is," she says, curtly.

He moves to pick it up, but before he bends all the way down to it, she asks, "Is it true?"

He furrows his brow, straightens back up,  and looks at her. "Is—"

"Are you and Iwaizumi-san a thing already?" She speaks slowly like it's taking effort for her to keep her tone of voice steady. Before he can tell her that's not the case, she inhales audibly before saying, "I don't— I don't want to care. Just answer honestly, please, Tooru. For once."

"We're not," he says, stepping closer to her.

She doesn't step away, but the look in her eyes makes it clear that he's getting too close to hitting their invisible barrier, so it's only one step.

"Why," she asks, "Why did you stay with me for so long when it was never me you wanted?" A pause. "You could have told me nine years ago that you were gay, and we could have been friends. _Actual friends._ "

Tooru's not quite sure what to say except, "I'm not gay."

"So then it was just me? _I_ wasn't enough for you?" Akane asks.

"No," he says, frustrated now. Frustrated at himself for causing this. "It's not— It wasn't like that."

"Then _what_ was it like, Tooru?" she asks, crossing her arms, "Because I've tried to come up with answers on my own, but apparently those aren't quite right either."

He gulps, looks away from her, and tries to come up with an answer.  It takes him a while to find the words in his throat, though it's a feeling he's felt in the pit of stomach for a long time. Possibly since high school.  

"I had this idea," he says, speaking slowly, afraid to mess up the words. He takes a breath before continuing. "I wanted— I wanted my life to look a certain way. Or I thought I wanted it, anyway— I thought once I was on the national team everything would just fall into place. That I would be happy with my life, with—" he takes a shaky breath— "with _us_."

"What would the national team have anything to do with us?"

Tooru shakes his head; he still doesn't look at her. "I thought— I thought it was the missing piece. I'd been working so hard for it, and for so long..." He trails off, not sure exactly whether he should keep going. "I thought once I had it we could be happy. Finally."

Hadn't he always felt something was missing? Since he was about eighteen? Part of him, the part that knows better, had always understood what it was. And it had nothing to do with volleyball. It was a _game_. His passion, yes, but a game nonetheless. To think that it could fill a hole in him that it wasn't meant to, that he knew deep down it wasn't meant to, was foolish in theory. It was outright reckless in practice.

"Tooru, I love you—"

He flinches at her words like she's brandishing a weapon.  "You should hate me." He doesn't want to let her finish whatever it is she has to say to him. "Why can't you just hate me? It would be easier."

Unexpectedly, she snorts at his words. He looks up at her. There's almost a smile in her eyes. Maybe it's just the memory of one.  

"You'd think you'd realize after all this that you can't always have what you want."

Tooru's not even quite sure he knows what that is anymore.

She breaks the silence. "You should probably get going. I'm having people over later and I need to clean up."  

He bends over, hoists the box into his one arm, and balances it against his hip as he straightens up. "Yeah," he agrees, "I have stuff to do too."  He doesn't, but he doesn't want to admit he's drowning when she's such a good swimmer.

After they reach the front door and say an only slightly awkward goodbye she stops him before closing the door all the way.

"Can you do me a favor?"

He nods. "Anything," he says.

"When you and Iwaizumi-san do get together, let me know, so I can tell No-chan to slap you in the face." She's grinning— that good-natured laughter in her eyes that he always wished he could just fall in love with— and there's no real animosity in her voice.  

He wonders how he could have ever believed he deserved her.

 

⟡

 

Tooru has whiplash.

For all of Iwa-chan's complaining about what a shitty guy Tooru was back in high school (he had joked about it once over text since they'd seen each other, and Tooru hadn't responded for over an hour, resulting in Iwa-chan texting him a multi-paragraph apology) he's really the confusing one. Tooru had gone from pining to his attention, to having it given to him far more enthusiastically than he would have expected and then taken away in the blink of an eye, to having it given to him hesitantly once more.

He's not entirely sure what to think of their newfound friendship.  It certainly doesn't feel like it did in high school. But then nine years of silence, two love confessions, and one messy kiss (being kissed while crying was not at all as romantic as it sounded), an attempted retraction of said kiss by the other party, and then an awkward not-date, tended to complicate these things.

If his conversation with Aka-chan had helped him figure out anything it was that Tooru doesn't know what he wants.  

Still, trying to figure out what Iwa-chan wants is giving him a headache. Maybe he should just ask. As soon the thought crosses his mind, he dismisses it.  He's sure that would only go over poorly, or he'd just end up more confused.

He narrows his eyes at Iwa-chan who's struggling to fit a couch through the doorway of his new apartment with the help of Matsukawa. He perches on the corner of the marble kitchen counter, legs crossed, and watches as Iwa-chan walks backward, trying not to bump into anything. He narrows his eyes further to see if it helps him read Iwa-chan's mind.

"I… thought…" Iwa-chan manages to get out through wheezing for breath, "that you… were... going… to help."

"I am helping," Tooru says, brightly, "I'm making sure that you don't run into anything. Or stub your toes."

When they set down the couch and its leg lands on Iwa-chan's toe. Oikawa says, "Watch out for that," only after Iwa-chan lets out a curse word that he should be ashamed of.

Iwa-chan excuses himself to go find ice and the box of his where he's stored the ibuprofen.

Matsukawa takes this opportunity to eye Tooru suspiciously. Tooru's not exactly sure what it is he's done, but he tries his best to look innocent. Their friendship has frayed, mostly due to a loss of contact, but they've never been on bad terms. Tooru should have guessed, though, that when it came down to it, it was never his side Matsukawa would have taken. He and Iwa-chan have just been through far more together in the past nine years. Irrationally, Tooru feels jealousy bubble up in his chest at that thought.

"You've been around a lot lately," Matsukawa observes. He leans back against the wall across from Tooru's seat atop the counter.

"Of course I have," Tooru replies, "Iwa-chan and I are best friends."

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow. "You _were_ best friends," he corrects.

Tooru already feels like he's slipped up and done something horribly wrong.

He wonders how much Matsukawa knows about what's happened in the last few weeks. Does he know about them getting dinner together and Iwa-chan buying him milk bread? Does he know about Iwa-chan walking away from Tooru on his birthday? Does he know about the kiss? The confessions? Does he know about Tooru tracking down Iwaizumi through Kuroo's friendship with Sawamura?

Clearly, he knows something.

Tooru shifts uncomfortably. "We're friends now," he says.  "Again."

"Right," he says, still eyeing Tooru.

There's a pause, a tension in the air between them more hostile than Tooru remembers even between him and Iwa-chan that first time in the physical therapy office.

Matsukawa speaks, finally putting Tooru out of his misery. "I watched you break his heart before, Oikawa," Matsukawa says, "I won't let you do it again. I think we're all old enough to know that even friends have boundaries."

"What do you mean," Oikawa says, struggling to keep his tone even.

He feels suddenly attacked, but at least if the attacks were physical he'd know them for what they are. He lets his feet find the floor, and he stands up straight feeling all too small under Matsukawa's eye while sitting down.  He wishes he were the taller of the two.

"I'm telling you," Matsukawa says, "not to push your boundaries with him. I know you, Oikawa. I know you're used to treating people like they're only worth their number of stars. I know you're used to being a self-involved, petulant child. Iwaizumi has dealt with enough shit from you between this summer and back in high school. So when you say that you and he are friends, I hope you actually know what that means."

"And what about us?" Tooru asks coolly. "Are you and I ever going to be friends again, or will you always be holding Iwa-chan's grudges for him?"

Matsukawa manages to keep his expression impassive, to Tooru's dismay.

"Iwaizumi's grudges?" Matsukawa says, "I think you're forgetting that Iwaizumi wasn't the only one you ditched in high school."

Tooru opens his mouth to respond but he's cut off.

"Sorry that took so long," Iwa-chan says, finally re-entering the apartment's kitchen, "it probably would have been faster to just run to the store."   

He looks between Tooru and Matsukawa, he looks like he has half a mind to ask what he just walked in on. Instead, he asks, "Should we order pizza?"

 

⟡

 

"So now that he's got such a great apartment," Kuroo says, "when are you two lovebirds moving in together?"

He knows that Kuroo's only teasing, and he doesn't mean anything by it, but it irks him nonetheless. He's currently regretting eating so much pizza at Iwa-chan's, but Kuroo isn't lending him any sympathy, and instead is leering over him. If Tooru didn't know any better he'd think he was about to get murdered.

"I'm not moving in with Iwa-chan," Tooru protests, "and we're not lovebirds."

"Oikawa," Kuroo says, "how long are you going to keep that up?"

"As long as you keep it up," Tooru responds.

"Fair enough," Kuroo replies before finding a spot in the chair by the window.

Kuroo tells Tooru about his Monday afternoon. They'd had morning practice, but they'd been done before lunch.  Kuroo had gone with Bokuto to inevitably cause trouble somewhere. They had apparently tried to get a discount at a movie theater since they both had such high ratings and were modestly famous as athletes, but the cashier ("A 3.3, mind you," Kuroo says) had refused to make any exceptions for them. Not even free popcorn. Kuroo seemed more annoyed about the last part than any of it.

When Tooru had heard that Iwa-chan was moving he'd offered to help at the last minute, though Iwa-chan made it very clear how unhelpful he was the whole time. And he'd been scolded for looking through Iwa-chan's boxes.

"And I got yelled at by Matsukawa," Tooru tells him, as he finishes talking.

"Which one is he again?" Kuroo asks.

"Eyebrows."

"What'd you do to him?"

Tooru shrugs.  He wishes he had an answer.  

"Aka-chan asked me something yesterday," he says, changing the subject. "Why I didn't just tell her I was gay."

"Well," Kuroo says, "Why didn't you?"

"I'm not," Tooru says. "I don't— I don't think I am anyway."

"So then you're bi?"

Tooru shrugs, but he says, "No."

Kuroo hums.

Bi doesn't sound quite right either. There's only ever been Aka-chan and Iwa-chan. And he'd loved Aka-chan, but not in the way he wished he could. But it wasn't like he'd ever had much trouble in bed with her. She would have noticed that a long time ago. _He_ would have noticed it and known that he needed to end things. Wouldn't that have been a sign he couldn't ignore? Sex had never been the issue; his feelings had, and those were far less tangible and easier to ignore.

And he'd always loved Iwa-chan. But it was a rare thing that Tooru fantasized about him when he was with Aka-chan, or even when he was alone. He'd done it a few times in high school and had felt sick to his stomach at the sight of his best friend the next day. And then in college a few times, when he was feeling particularly self-loathing. But he could count it all on his fingers and still have a few left over.

He'd known that all the boys at Aoba Johsai had been obsessed with girls' bodies, and Tooru had always felt mostly indifferent about them. He'd felt indifferent about most bodies in general, except for Iwa-chan's. But that was back when touches between them were casual and comfortable.  When they had no qualms about sharing a bed during sleepovers when they'd known they should have outgrown it years ago.

Now, he's not quite sure.

He tries his best to imagine Iwa-chan's naked body against his own. It makes heat flush his chest and his cheeks, but that's physiological. He's not sure what he actually _feels_ , what he actually should feel. Shouldn't that thought excite him more than the thought of being with Aka-chan?

"You're doing it again," Kuroo says.

"Wha—"

"Getting lost in your head."

Tooru presses his lips together and his eyebrows draw in. He sits up. "I would know if I was gay, right?"

"Probably," Kuroo replies, unhelpfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oikawa's sexuality isn't something i've really had the chance to explore in hajime's narrative, and i was considering just not really touching it and leaving it up to you guys' interpretation entirely, but i decided it was worth at least grazing the surface of. obviously a few paragraphs in this chapter plus this end note isn't enough to go into as much detail as i would like, but i could probably write an entire thesis on it so i'll leave it at that.


	14. XI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Is it worth the risk?

"Thank you, everyone, for showing up early and making sure this all ran as smoothly as possible. You can't know how many anxieties tonight's success relieves."  As Michimiya speaks she holds her wine glass up, the delicate stem of the glass between two fingers. She wears a red dress that comes to her mid-thigh and bright red lipstick. "Daichi and I are both so glad to make you all a part of this."

Scattered murmuring, nods of approval, and a single awkward clap follow her statement.  When she sits back down, Sugawara leans across Sawamura and says something to her in too low a voice for anyone but the three of them to hear.  Hajime sits across from them, shoved into a seat next to Kuroo who's directly facing Sawamura. Kuroo had been— not subtlely at all— watching him for the majority of the evening at the rehearsal, so it was no surprise to Hajime when the other man insisted they sit next to each other at dinner.

The air conditioning is turned so high that Hajime wishes he'd brought a sweater even though it's early August and he'd been sweating in his apartment this afternoon. The paneled walls and wood floor of the restaurant make it nearly dark inside, even though a modest chandelier hangs directly above their table.

"So, let me ask you something," Kuroo says after the food and drinks are all brought out and everyone else is involved in their own mini conversations: Sawamura and Sugawara laugh about something, Michimiya's friend chatters excitedly and Michimiya smiling as she listens, Nishinoya talks excitedly with an equally excited Tanaka and a politely confused Azumane.

Hajime turns his head slightly to meet Kuroo's eye as if the other even really needed his permission to talk. Kuroo accepts it as invitation enough.

"You and Oikawa. What is that?"

"That's a pretty broad question," Hajime says, furrowing his brow. And though there's no reason for it to do so, the question makes him feel oddly defensive. "Why don't you ask him, seeing as you guys live together?"

Kuroo rolls his eyes. "I don't want to make this a _What are your intentions with my friend_ talk, but—"

"Wait a minute," Hajime says, "What do _you_ think it is between me and Oikawa?"

Kuroo shrugs and looks away from Hajime and down at his drink, his bangs hanging down from his face as he does so.  "Well, I know about what happened on his birthday for starters," Kuroo says. "So if whatever you're about to tell me _you_ think is going on happens to be along the lines of, ' _I don't know,_ ' or ' _Maybe we'll be friends again someday,'_ I'm gonna have to call bullshit."

Hajime shifts uncomfortably in his seat and steals a surreptitious glance around the table. No one appears to be paying any mind to the conversation taking place between him and Kuroo. Still. "I don't think this is the time or place to have that discussion then." Because, well, didn't Kuroo hit the nail on the head? Isn't that exactly what _is_ going on, Oikawa's birthday aside?

"Iwaizumi," Kuroo starts, tone matter-of-fact, "you and I don't know each other very well, so excuse me if I have to point out the fact that time and place doesn't really matter to me. If you want though, we can go outside."

Hajime debates with himself for a moment about whether leaving would attract more attention than staying, but decides he'd rather not have every single former member of the Karasuno team— minus one, Hajime can't forget— overhear a discussion about his connection to Oikawa Tooru; whatever that even is at this point. Hajime had suspected Oikawa had told Kuroo about what happened between them— he never really was very good at keeping his mouth shut— but it's still a bit of annoyance to find out that he knows. How much else does Kuroo know about Hajime's own life thanks to Oikawa?

They end up standing outside the restaurant, Kuroo leaning his back against the wall just beside the front door like he owns the place.

"So," Kuroo says, "I'll ask you again to please tell me exactly what it is that's going on between you and Oikawa."

"Why do you care so much?" Hajime asks.

"Probably the same reason your friend cares so much as to give Oikawa a warning," Kuroo says.

"Excuse me?" Hajime asks.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow like he expects Hajime to say something else.

"Your friend told Oikawa to watch himself with you."

"What friend?" Hajime asks. But even as he asks the answer comes to him. He remembers Oikawa's abrupt exit after he'd ordered pizza when they were moving things into his house.

"Oikawa calls him Mattsun," Kuroo says.

Who else? Hajime's not sure what he expected. If anything, he's surprised that they had this talk now and not nine years ago. Still, Matsukawa was once friends with Oikawa, too. Their situation is different from this, from Hajime standing across from Kuroo who he only really knows through Hajime.

"Okay," Hajime says, crossing his arms and finding himself closer toward the end of his patience, "So why are you asking me what it is when you seem to think you already have the answer."

"I just wanted confirmation," Kuroo says. His ability to keep his tone nonchalant is admirable or enviable but because it's directed at Hajime right now it's just infuriating. "Look, it's none of my business what your feelings are. It's just that I can only watch my best friend's heart get broken so many times in the span of one summer. And you already account for your fair share. So I'm gonna ask you this, and you don't have to tell me your answer, but I hope for both your sakes that you do _have_ an answer. What are your feelings for him?"

He wants this to be a joke. If only this were a joke, then he could laugh at it and Kuroo could laugh and they'd go back into the restaurant and sit down and continue conversations with the rest of the rehearsal guests. But it's not a joke.

He stands dumbfounded. _What are your feelings for him?_ Hajime doesn't know. Whatever his reaction to the question, Kuroo watches his face closely like he's under a microscope. It's uncomfortable at best, and he knows that reading minds is impossible, but he wonders whether Kuroo's figured him out. Whether Kuroo's figured out that Hajime really doesn't know what it is he feels for Oikawa.

Terrifyingly, Kuroo nods as if he has his answer and shoves his way back through the glass doors of the restaurant

Hajime waits for a moment, the sounds of Tokyo at night engulfing his thoughts for a moment as he closes his eyes and lets out a long exhale. He wishes that Kuroo was wrong. But he's right. And even though Kuroo didn't say it outright, Hajime isn't an idiot; he knows that he was hinting at what Oikawa wants. That shouldn't come as a surprise to him. Oikawa always was the more decisive of the two, sometimes in a good way and other times recklessly.  It was Oikawa's decision-making that solidified their friendship all those years ago, his decisions that ruined that same friendship, and his decisions that brought him back into Hajime's life. All Hajime has ever done is decided to follow or not follow him.

Feelings or no, it's finally his turn to decide.

 

⟡

 

Hajime doesn't think of himself as a procrastinator by any means. Still, when he shows up to meet Oikawa, he finds his own thoughts and desires still warring amongst themselves. A small sliver of him had hoped that upon seeing Oikawa's face, he'd miraculously receive his answer. Now he stands in front of him, and he feels more torn than he has since his conversation with Kuroo. He falls back on his second plan, to figure out whether this feels like two friends hanging out or if it feels like a date. Hajime's always been a little dense when it comes to that stuff, though, so he's not even sure he can trust his own instincts on it.

They ended up at the restaurant that Hajime's been to with Kageyama back in June when they'd first gone out together in public. Hajime had felt more decisive back then, if equally unsure of his feelings. What is it about Oikawa that makes the decision process so difficult?

Oikawa shifts and his hands fidget with one another. He looks up as Hajime takes the seat across from him.  "Hi, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, grinning broadly.

The sudden shift in demeanor makes Hajime narrow his eyes. "Hi," he says, carefully. He rubs his hands on his thighs, palms skimming against the denim of his jeans. "So, I heard Matsukawa said something to you," he says, not wasting time with beating around the bush, "I hope he didn't give you the wrong idea or anything."

Oikawa's expression shifts and his smile wavers for a moment before it settles back on his face, more forced than before. Hajime sees it in his eyes. It's an expression he'd be able to read upside-down with his eyes closed and in his sleep. Hajime thinks of all the times Oikawa used it back in high school. He's sure Sawamura was on the receiving end of that look at least a dozen times. Kageyama at least ten dozen.

"What do you mean?" He asks, a hitch in his voice.

Oikawa really isn't as difficult to read as he believes himself to be.

"I mean that Matsukawa said something to you, and then Kuroo decided to talk to me, too," Hajime says.

Oikawa inhales sharply and looks away from Hajime. "I didn't _ask_ Kuroo to talk to you."

"Oh, no," Hajime says, "I didn't say that. I got the impression it was his own idea, considering."

"What did he say to you?" Oikawa asks looking back at Hajime.

"I—" Hajime should have expected that. "— It doesn't matter." But he only says that because it does matter. Because what Kuroo said resonated with him. _I can only watch my best friend's heart get broken so many times in the span of one summer._  Wouldn't Hajime say the same thing if their positions were reversed? Wasn't he once Oikawa's protective best friend? He shakes his head. "That's not the point. Whatever it is that you and Matsukawa are dealing with, though…" He pauses and takes a slow breath. "I don't want to be the reason the two of you do or don't become friends again."

Oikawa pulls his eyebrows together.

The waitress— Hajime recognizes her from last time he was here; it's the same girl who had served him and Kageyama— approaches their table to take their drink orders, cutting off the conversation at hand. Oikawa orders an orange soda and Hajime orders water.

"An orange soda?" Hajime asks, eyebrow raised. "What are you still in high school?"

"Hey!" Oikawa protests, indignantly, "You ordered _water._  Only the worst kind of person does that. And you didn't even ask for lemon!"

Hajime rolls his eyes but then he smirks at Oikawa. Oikawa smirks back, conspiratorially. A moment too late, Hajime tries to read whatever just passed between them. His lips press together. How is Oikawa reading this? Is this flirting?  Oikawa had always been better at figuring stuff out than he is.

"What's wrong, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa asks, leaning back in his seat. "Your face got all—"  He scrunches his brow and his nose at the same time for a second. "—like that."

"Hm? Oh, it's nothing." Hajime says, "I was just… thinking."

"Well," Oikawa says brightly, "Try not to do too much of that! I remember what your grades were like in high school. Wouldn't want to hurt yourself."

"My grades were not bad," Hajime protests.

Oikawa raises his eyebrows. " _Not bad_ is not a synonym for _good,_ Iwa-chan. If you got better grades in school you'd know that."

Hajime rolls his eyes. "You really haven't changed."

Oikawa pouts. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. You really haven't changed. Well, except your star rating." Hajime falters, shakes his head. "I didn't mean—"

Oikawa shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I'm trying— I'm trying to stop caring as much about stupid things like that. It's not like I really have a choice anyway." He lets out a forced laugh. "It's funny how much harder it is to raise a score than fall from the top."

"Well," Hajime says, "it's like you're working against gravity."

Oikawa blinks. For a moment he looks surprised, but then he offers a small smile. This one is genuine; the most genuine Hajime's seen all afternoon. "You sound like a physical therapist I used to go to."

"Oh yeah?" Hajime asks, raising an eyebrow and grinning back, "Was he any good?"

Oikawa's grin broadens, showing his teeth, and he shakes his head. "Terrible, actually," Oikawa says, "I started going to the other partner at his practice."

Hajime laughs, nearly a bark as it catches him off-guard. When he catches his breath he tilts his head and studies Oikawa's face again. He tries to figure out what box the feeling in his chest belongs in. Friendship? Affectionate nostalgia? Something else?

Hajime's grateful when the waitress saves him from having to figure it out by the arrival of their drinks and the question of what they'd like for food. Hajime had forgotten entirely to look at the menu at all (damn Oikawa, always distracting him) and just orders what he remembers having back when he was here with Kageyama. The waitress jots their orders down, nods at them, and then leaves again.

"Why were you looking at me like that?" Oikawa asks as soon as she's out of earshot.

"Like what?" Hajime asks.

Oikawa opens his mouth but doesn't say anything, instead, he presses his lips together and shakes his head. "Nevermind."

"No," Hajime says, "Really. Like what?"

"It's dumb," Oikawa says.

Hajime raises his eyebrows, waiting for Oikawa to tell him.

Before he says anything, Oikawa lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes. "I was just going to say that's how you used to look at me sometimes. Back before…"  He takes a sharp breath and then shakes his head. "It's how you used to look at me sometimes when we were the last two in the gym after practice."

Hajime knows what he was going to say. But was it Oikawa's best friend Hajime who used to look at him like that, or in love with Oikawa but not planning to do anything about it Hajime? Can he even separate his past feelings into two like that, or were they always a little bit intertwined? After all, wasn't he always a little bit in love with Oikawa? But that doesn't necessarily mean he is now.

"I was just… trying to figure something out."

Oikawa blinks. "About me?"

Hajime nods. "Yep. About you."

"What were you trying to figure out?"

Rather than answering, Hajime reaches across the table and messes up Oikawa's hair with his hand. Then he sits back. "I was right," he says, "your hair looks _much_ better like that."

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa exclaims, trying to fix his hair. "You can't just mess with natural beauty like that."  

Hajime laughs, relieved that his distraction worked.

 

⟡

 

The wedding ceremony was beautiful without any overstated decorations or displays. A bit of the rustic feel of Miyagi pervaded the whole thing, despite it taking place just a few miles outside Tokyo. He shouldn't have expected anything less from Sawamura and Michimiya. (He had asked if he should change the name he uses to refer to her when the two of them got married, and she had said she didn't care one way or the other, and Hajime is nothing if not a creature of habit.)

He ends up closest to Daichi in most of the wedding party photos, simply because of height. Azumane and Kuroo are giants, as the photographer pointed out multiple times during the post-ceremony photo session. It took what seemed like hours posing, waiting for a few flashes, and then repeating the process with a slightly different arrangement of people over and over and over.

He's paired with one of the bridesmaids for his entrance into the reception hall.

"You're Oikawa Tooru's high school friend, right?" she asks as they wait for their moment to enter the hall.  

Hajime's caught by surprise at Oikawa's name showing up at Sawamura's wedding from someone other than Kuroo Tetsurou. Belatedly, he nods.  "Yeah," he says, "the one and only." Which is a little bit of a ridiculous thing to say when far more people probably considered themselves friends with Oikawa than they did with Hajime or Matsukawa or Hanamaki.

He offers her his arm when their names are announced and they walk into the hall, pausing on the dancefloor to do a quick few step waltz and a single spin before heading to the head table where they take their seats at opposite ends. At the very end, sitting next to Hajime is Kuroo. He smirks, glancing sidelong at Hajime as Azumane and one of the other bridesmaids walks in next. Someone whistles loudly. (Nishinoya, probably.)

The hall cheers the loudest, of course, for the bride and groom. They start their first dance immediately, and Hajime tries his best to look like he's paying attention even though this part of weddings always makes him feel like he's seeing something he shouldn't. He focuses on something just beyond them, feeling about as polite as he can in this situation. He's relieved when the song ends and they join the rest of their wedding party at the head table.

"Excuse me, everyone," Michimiya's maid-of-honor, a cousin of hers, stands up with her champagne glass in hand. The DJ who had played the music for their entrances and the first dance rushes to over to her, handing her a microphone and nearly tripping over its cord in the process. She smiles graciously at him and takes it. "I'd like to say a few words about Yui if you all don't mind listening to me."

She goes to talk about their childhood together, telling a few funny stories, and before wishing the couple all the best and taking her seat once more. Hajime sees Sugawara elbow Azumane in the side— what looks like harder than necessary— before the two of them stand up together. Sugawara takes the microphone from Michimiya's cousin.

"So," Sugawara says, "Asahi and I are going to do something a little unconventional and have a joint best men speech." He grins at the onlookers not seated with the head table. "We've both known Daichi since our first year of high school. And I think it's fair to say without him we wouldn't be who we are today…"

"Certainly we wouldn't have gone to nationals third year," Azumane offers sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. There's a scattering of polite laughter.

"Daichi is like a brother to us, and Yui has become like a sister to us too. It's almost hard to remember what our friendship was like before the two of them got together." Sugawara laughs into the mic. "If it weren't for her, Asahi would have never have told a certain someone about his feelings."

Nishinoya stands up from where he sits next to Hinata and Tanaka and gives two thumbs up in Michimiya's direction. She offers one back and laughs.

"I remember when Daichi told us he wanted to marry Yui," Azumane says, "Suga was beyond belief and elated, and all I could do was worry about all the things that might go wrong."

"That's because Asahi's a wimp," Suga cuts in.

"Well," Azumane says with a chuckle, "I'm not going to deny that. I'm the one who was too afraid of public speaking to agree to do two separate speeches." Giggles in the crowd. Azumane shakes his head. "But when I asked Daichi how he knew nothing would go wrong, he said something that stuck with me. And it wasn't just some typical ' _When you know, you know_ ' cliche. He told me he didn't know that, but what he did know was that she was worth the risk to try it out—"

"MARRY ME ASAHI-SAN!" Nishinoya calls out.

Hajime finds himself stuck on the last part of what Azumane said. He doesn't notice how Azumane quickly excuses himself, too embarrassed to continue thanks to his boyfriend, and leaves the mic with Suga who makes a far more elegant completion of the toast. Once everyone's seated once again and the meals are brought out by caterers dressed in black button-up shirts, Hajime excuses himself from the table. As he passes Kuroo, the man gives him a knowing look.

In the air-conditioned foyer, Hajime sits on a white settee, an elbow propped on the arm of the chair. He presses call and then holds the phone in front of his face. While he waits he messes with his hair with one hand which only makes it look worse.

"Aren't you at a wedding?" Matsukawa asks as his face appears on the screen, thick eyebrows pulled together. "What are you calling me for?"

"I need you to talk me out of making any stupid decisions," Hajime says.

"Such as—"

"Trying to be more than friends with Oikawa."

Matsukawa blinks, slowly, and takes a breath so deep Hajime can hear it through his phone speaker. Pressing his lips together, he looks at something slightly beyond his phone before returning his gaze to Hajime. "Iwaizumi," he says, "We both know that the chances of that ending well are slim to none."

Hajime presses his lips together. Matsukawa's right. They do both know that. "But what if he's worth it," he argues to himself more than his friend.

"Wait, what?" Matsukawa asks.

At the same time, the door to the reception hall swings open, and the bridesmaid he'd made his entrance with walks into the foyer. "I've been asked to fetch you," she says to Hajime. He nods as the circle comes to light around her face. _Saito 4.1_.

"Right," he says, then to Matsukawa, "I have to go back now. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Wait, Iwa—"

Hajime hangs up the call and shoves his phone into his pocket before standing up. He nods at Saito and gestures toward the door. "Shall we?"

 

⟡

 

Sugawara slides into the seat next to Hajime as a slower song starts up. "This part always makes me feel like I'm at a middle school dance," he says.  His expression shifts and he tilts his head. "Are you having fun Iwaizumi?" The way he asks the question makes Hajime wonder whether he doesn't already know the answer.

"Yeah," Hajime says, "of course."

"It's just," Sugawara starts, bringing his hands together in front of him, "You've been sitting here all night and only danced when Yui forced you out of your seat."

"I've never been big on dancing," Hajime admits.

Sugawara nods, "Well," he says, "As long as you're having fun all by yourself." He stands up and looks toward the bar at the edge of the room. There had been a line in front of it as they had cleared the dinner plates away, just as the music had really started. Now there are only two people in front of it, ordering something.  Sugawara leans toward him, as to not shout too loudly over the music. "I, for one, need another drink."

"Now that's a statement I can agree with," Hajime says.

They both order another round of their respective drinks. "At least it's an open bar," Iwaizumi says.

On their way back to the head table, someone steps between them, stopping right in front of Hajime. It takes him a minute to focus enough in the darkness of the hall— lit for dancing, not for conversation— and the haze of his just hitting tipsy mind to recognize the woman in front of him.

"Saito," he says, surprised.

"Iwaizumi," she says back. "I've been waiting almost _all_ night for you to ask me to dance."

He blanches, but when the shock of her straightforward statement passes he nods. "Oh, uh— I…" He presses his lips together. "Let's dance then," he says, "I just— I need to put my drink down."  

He takes a long sip from the glass on the way back to the table where he sets it down on the napkin in front of where he'd been sitting during the toasts and dinner— other people have appropriated it for short spans of time as he's gotten up to talk to others or stand and not-quite-dance on the dance floor.  Saito grabs his wrist to drag him away from the table, and then they're on the dance floor.

The last time Hajime was this close to a woman was at a party in college. She'd wanted to go home with him, and he'd had to explain to her as gently as possible that he was gay. It had gone smoothly enough. Besides, Hajime thinks, it's just one dance. There's nothing comparable about the situations except that Saito is also a woman and there's dancing involved.  They only manage to catch the last half minute of the song before the bass of a hip-hop beat causes a reverberation in the speakers.

Hajime steps back. He rubs at the back of his neck. "That was, uh, a short dance."

Saito tilts her head. She slides the palms of her hands down the lapels of his suit jacket. "You didn't think I was done with you, did you?"

He gulps, and he's about to open his mouth to say that he's flattered, but she's not his type. It's a speech he's used a few other times, a modest amount, and almost none since he was still finishing his degrees, but enough that he's worked out most of the kinks. Before he can, though, she pulls him closer to her by his tie.

They're so close now, and Saito's managed to pull him and maneuver in such a way that one of her thighs is between his where they stand. He presses his lips together and his unfamiliarity with such situations must show on his face because she steps back before he can try to gently do so himself and asks, "What's wrong? You got a girlfriend or something?"

Hajime shakes his head.

"Good because I asked around and Yui and a few of the groomsmen confirmed you're single."

"Right," he says, "but…"

"So it's something me then," Saito says, "I get it. It's fine, Iwaizumi, you don't have to beat around the bush."

"You're a woman," he replies.

"Yes," she says, crossing her arms and glaring at him impatiently.

Others on the dance floor are starting to look at them, now, too. Tanaka who's currently acting past blackout lets out a loud whooping noise which distracts them again. Hajime shakes his head, trying to focus on Saito in front of him.

"That's the something about you," he says. "I'm not— I don't date women."

After he says it aloud, he realized he's surprised Michimiya wouldn't have mentioned that herself when Saito asks. She's known he was gay since not long after he'd come out to Sawamura. Neither of them had reacted poorly, obviously, but judging by the morphing of expression on Saito's face, Hajime realizes the mistake he's made.

"I see," she says and turns and walks away from him.

It isn't until later that he notices the notification for the one-star rating.

 

⟡

 

Hajime raps against the door with his knuckles for the fifth time, louder than the last.  The door swings open.

"Why do you always— Oh, Iwa-chan, it's you."  Oikawa's hair is matted down on one side of his head, and his glasses are on. The sweatpants he's wearing have a hole in them showing his bare knee, and his tee-shirt has an alien on it.

Hajime thinks that he's seen those exact clothes on Oikawa during sleepovers in high school. He snorts at that.

"What are you doing here?" Oikawa asks.

Taking a deep breath, Hajime straightens his posture— as if it'll make him appear soberer— and forces himself to focus on Oikawa's eyes. "I've been thinking," he says, "And I needed to do this tonight before I _kept_ thinking and talked myself out of it."  He pauses and glances around, suddenly remembering their surroundings. The doorway of Kuroo Tetsurou's apartment certainly is not where Hajime wanted to do this. "Come to my apartment," he says, "but also let's stop for food on the way. Like McDonald's or something."

"I can't just leave the apartment at two in the morning, Iwa-chan."

"Why not?"

"Well," Oikawa says, impatiently, gesturing to himself, "I was just asleep, and I'd like to go back to sleep. Also, showing up unannounced is a little rude."

"Oh," Hajime says, "so it's only okay when you do it."

"That's not—" Oikawa stops abruptly and lets out a huff. "Fine, I'll come with you." He steps out of the apartment and pulls the door closed behind him. "I'm not getting changed for this, though. It's bad enough that I'm not getting my beauty sleep now."

"Please tell me you're being ironic," Hajime says.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, and Hajime can't decipher it in his very tired and slightly past tipsy.

To Hajime's surprise, Oikawa's the one who remembers that Hajime wanted food, and they do end up stopping at a 24-hour booth that sells steamed pork buns. He makes an impressively coordinated maneuver to eat them while they continue walking, and it might be the alcohol, but Hajime doesn't think he's ever tasted anything as delicious as these street buns on this particular sidewalk before they find their way to a subway station.

Oikawa's been ominously quiet the entire trip back to Hajime's apartment, but he only notices this when they're walking once again and a few city blocks away from their destination. That must be a sign he's sobering up, and as he glances over at Oikawa and tries his best to read the tight expression on his face, Hajime can feel his own resolve faltering.

Is this the right thing to do?

"So what is it that you dragged me all the way here for?" Oikawa asks as they reach the front door of Hajime's apartment.

His new front door— it stills seems strange to Hajime. Just weeks ago he'd been living in an entirely different apartment. Just a few weeks ago Oikawa had shown up out of the blue at Hajime's front door and said he was in love with him. Against his will, Hajime's own heart rate quickens, and he takes a deep breath.  "Let's go inside," he says instead of answering the question. He turns the key in the lock and pushes the door inward and steps through the threshold into the dark apartment.

He hears Oikawa's footsteps behind him as he flicks the light switch on. He makes his way to the couch and sits near the arm of it, elbows against his knees and hands folded together. Oikawa follows, sitting on the opposite end of it, turning his head and tilting it just enough to glance over.

"So—"

"Hang on," Hajime cuts him off. His mind has decided to remind him of all the reasons he shouldn't be doing this. _Nine years_ of reasons. Has Oikawa really done enough as penance for all of that? Hajime's not lacking in fault either, though, is he? He thinks back about what Azumane had said in his toast to Daichi and Yui.

Is it worth the risk?

"Oikawa," he says and then pauses, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. "There are a million reasons I shouldn't be saying any of this, and probably almost as many reasons that you shouldn't be listening to me, but—" He cuts off and shakes his head again. At this rate, it's going to take him twice as long to get to the point. He lets out an exhale. "I think we should try this."

Hajime waits for Oikawa to say something. He's narrowed his eyes at the fabric of the cushion between the two of them, and he wets his lips slowly before speaking. "What exactly is it that you want us to try?"

"Us. Together." Like they should've been years and years ago. He doesn't say that part out loud. It's a little too sentimental right now, and Oikawa still looks hesitant. Hajime feels like he's hanging over the edge of a cliff and the ropes that are supposed to pull him up might snap at any moment.

Oikawa lets out an audible exhale through his nose. "Iwa-chan," he says, "I don't know if you remember this… but two weeks ago you said you didn't want that."

"I didn't think I did," Hajime says before correcting himself, "I didn't  _want_ to I had let go of you for so long that I didn't want to give into you out of—"

Oikawa laughs and his expression shifts, and he's grinning now as his posture shifts, and he lets his head tilt backward over the edge of the couch, his eyes on Hajime's. "You always were so spiteful, Iwa-chan," he says.

" _Me?_ If either of us was—" He stops himself. That's not what this is about. "Never mind, that's not important. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Oikawa says, shifting closer to him now, "That if you break my heart after putting me through all this, I'll have to kill you." He's joking, probably, Oikawa never says anything that he actually means with such a deadpan expression his face.

"That's not—" Hajime's protests get cut off by Oikawa's lips against his.

Something surges against his ribs as he returns the kiss. It's different than those weeks ago on the bench in the locker room, when Oikawa's lips were salty with his own tears and Hajime was still tearing himself apart in trying to figure out and deny his feelings all at once. Now it feels more like placing the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, everything finally where it should be. He feels relieved and elated at the same time.

Instead of pulling away, he presses closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO things.... 
> 
> 1\. holy damn i can't believe i've been working on this fic for over a year now so much has changed irl for me in that time span & if you've been here since the very beginning just know i appreciate you reading this whether or not you're a regular commenter. i also appreciate you if you've hopped on the bumpy, worn-down wagon for this fic at any point between then and now. we've got a little bit left to go with this one, but the end is within reach
> 
> 2\. in case you used to follow my social media those are clearly no longer up and i deleted all the links to them from the notes in all my fics which took a long ass time but i honestly feel so much better now and it's something i needed to do to remember why im even writing fic (particularly this one which is my personal favorite and yet least popular multi-chapter work) but the good news is that i feel super refreshed about writing and it sucks that i had to cut out the social side of fandom entirely to find this feeling again, but i'm glad i went through with it

**Author's Note:**

> [confused_foam](https://twitter.com/confused_foam) created [this lovely title graphic](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DpHxz4VXgAI2O9Z.jpg:large)! i'm so blown away. take a look at it, i absolutely can't thank her enough!


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